Roses have thorns
by Narcissa.Bellatrix
Summary: Edmund Plantagenet was fated to die but fate changed its mind and spared him from his horrible fate. Mary (Tudor) was given a second chance and she wakes up in the woods near Dover where she finds a fugitive Edmund.
1. Chapter 1

**Time travel fic. Plot bunny from Mimi dubois found in the Plot bunnies and challenges for everything else but Anne Boleyn.**

**What if... Edmund Plantagenet is NOT beheaded after the Battle of Wakefield in 1460 along with his father. What if he is allowed to live? What if he is the one that Mary ends up having the relationship with? Not George Duke of Clarence. His title was Earl of Rutland. He could be made Duke of Rutland.**

**Altered some of the ages to fit the story and the events surrounding the war of the roses.**

**Thanks to Mimi dubois, Vader's mistress, Ladyjaxs999, Couture212 for the sources and inspiration their fics brought me and to the Richard III society page which is the best page and offers the best sources online. I suggest you check it out if you haven't already.**

* * *

Edmund barely escaped and by barely he had his health, a few blood, and his sanity with him, but his soul was beyond repair. Those bastards of the red rose of Lancaster! They had killed their father and placed his head on a wooden pike with a paper crown like he was some kind of traitor!

Traitor? Pha! He was the man who tried setting things right again. People could say what they wanted but his father was the rightful heir, through his line and his mother's line, the Yorks were the rightful heirs -and since god stopped favoring the house of Lancaster, it fell on them to rule the country.

Richard was dead, the task now fell unto his brother Edward.

He had to find him.

* * *

Mary watched her life crumble as her father married woman after woman. She wished she could have a second chance and she could have changed things for the better. Perhaps this was god's punishment. Perhaps she had been too harsh on the heretic.

But they deserved it -a voice in her head said. They were evil and they were responsible for bastardizing her and corrupting her little brother's soul and turning him against her. Besides, she was saving their souls purging them from sin. But then she heard the screams when she would come out of the balcony.

"Burn the catholic whore!" they screamed. Perhaps they were right.

"Your Majesty you must declare who is your rightful heir. Lady Elizabeth is a heretic, you must declare queen Mary of Scotland your rightful heir."

Mary shook her head. That Scottish pig who also plotted against her and her father had never once lifted a finger to aid her mother? Never! She shook her head and spat the words as if they had come natural to her "I will never give my throne to a Stuart. Better a heretic than a Stuart" she said and everyone around her gasped then she began coughing releasing phlegm and the priest came administering the last rites to her.

She wished she could go back. She had done so many wrongs. To Elizabeth, her people, even to her mother. If she had only signed that will and accepted she was a bastard, her mother could have been saved. She would have convinced herself of the truth -that her husband was no longer her Sir loyal heart and she would have signed. She would have been allowed to live and with that, she and Mary would have plotted together. Perhaps even the heretics would have treated her better. Perhaps she would have grown to love them. But all she had of them were resentful memories.

She coughed one more time and then closed her eyes. She could feel herself drifting away. It did not feel nearly as bad as she had imagined. She would finally be reunited with her mother and be at peace.

By tomorrow morning they would cheer her death and cry "Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen"

"Long Live Queen Elizabeth the First!"

Mary could hear them now, see the visions of her sister's reign, all the things she would do. That was her destiny to be England's greatest Queen, it was never Mary's. Mary was always a bump in the road, she was a mistake, one that it had taken god too long to remedy but at last she would be dead and everything would be well again ...

* * *

Edmund barely made it to the coast of Dover. His legs were aching and he could hear the soldiers marching. Damn them! He wanted to go to his mother and seek succor but he knew doing that would only place his mother and his younger brothers in danger.

Just as he was about to rest he ran into someone. "Ouch! What in the hell are you thinking?" He shouted at the idiot who ran into his path. The stranger cowered at his voice and turned to run but Edmund stopped him, unsheathing his dagger and putting it on the stranger's neck. "Were you sent here by Henry's Queen, hmm? Well, answer me!"

"P-p-p-please I-I-I-I-I don't know where I am. IthoughtIwasdyingbutthenIwokeuphere." She said very fast and Edmund could barely understood her but he understood her first sentence. He pushed the dagger away from her throat and turned her to face him.

By God she is just a harmless girl you idiot! He was about to murder an innocent. He sighed, half-relieved she wasn't one of Lancaster's forces and half-scared with what he had been near in doing.

"I am sorry. What's your name?"

"Mary."

"Mary, you said you didn't know where you are. Do you know where your parents are from? Maybe you could find shelter in the port nearby, I am on my way to Calais. You can come with me."

The young girl shook her head. She was about to leave when they both turned hearing the loud hooves of Lancaster's cavalry. He turned back to Mary. "Look Mary you can stay here or follow me, either way you won't survive a second on your own, so it's better you follow me for the time being." Without waiting for confirmation, he took her hand and led her away.

In all the meanwhile that his thoughts remained on his father, his death and his own near death experience, Mary's remained on her own death experience.

What had happened? Last thing she remembered she was dying. The priest was administering the holy rites to her, then she opened her eyes and she landed here. But just where was here and why was this man saying Lancaster forces?

A sudden thought struck her.

Lancaster! The Tudors were Lancasters, there were some remnants in England who still clung to the foolish belief that the white rose of York would rise again, there were small, very small but some believed strong enough to cause a rebellion, remnants of the York rose who believed it was their duty to restore their house to the throne.

Had they done it? Was this god's punishment then? Was he punishing her for failing to serve His people, for failing to serve His flock and burning men, women, and children?

No, she refused to believe that a loving god could be so cruel. Then again, she had believed that her father had also been a loving and merciful man and look how that turned out for her and her mother.

They finally arrived to the port. They hid in one of the taverns. He excused himself with her and told her to stay put. She asked him where he was going but he only offered her a jesting smile and ran off. Strange, the man vaguely reminded her of her father. They had similar features and his red-brown hair was straight and not curly like her father in his younger days. At the thought of him, there was a sudden longing in Mary. She longed for the days when he swung her and boasted to everyone that she was the finest jewel he ever had and "She never cries" he said.

A single tear ran down her cheek. She looked around. The people were dressed with very old-fashionable clothes. Some of which she had seen in her grandmother's portrait, Elizabeth of York from Richmond Palace.

She spotted an empty table and sat. She sighed. What was she going to do. Could she even trust this man? The way he spoke of Lancaster it was like he hated it. She had to get out of here -she decided. Whatever god's plan was, she knew it didn't intend her to be on the side of her family's enemy. Just as she was about to leave, Edmund returned and took her hand again.

"Here, wear these." He brought a pair of fresh clothes. Mary was unsure if she should take them or not.

"I-I have to go."

Judging by her accent she was no simple peasant girl or tavern wench that's for sure. This was the second time she'd spoken to him and her speech was refined, in fact her whole appearance was refined. Youthful looking, dark grey eyes that reminded him of those Tudor bastards, the King of Lancaster's half siblings by his French mother, the late Dowager Queen. In fact looking closely there was some similitude between them, but neither had been half as handsome as she was.

He wondered if she was one of his father's bastards? His mother complained to his sisters never to trust a man. A man's first instinct was self preservation and that including dumping his seed on whatever woman he found. Edmund snorted inwardly. It wouldn't surprised him if this turned out to be her sister but ...

Looking even closer he saw something else in her. There was something -not divine- but completely bewitching of her, her eyes seemed to change color, almost green, she had a magical beauty about her, in the candlelight she could pass in the far distance at divine but come closer and you would see that she had the beauty of the creatures of old, the ones they used to worship before they turned their loyalty to the white Christ.

Enchanted by the piercing and yet soft gaze of her eyes he did not take notice of her trembling.

Mary wondered why didn't she leave now. She wanted to go. She had to go. She could not support a usurper and a rebel at that of his or her, whoever had usurped her sister's rightful throne.

"I have to go sir, p-please."

It dawned to Edmund she was scared and trembling. He withdrew his hands from her chin and looked down at his feet. A part of him told him to leave her here. He was probably wrong anyways and she was nothing but somebody else's brat but if he was right and she was some distant relation of him. (Of who, god knows? Edmund thought. But it was his duty to protect her).

And he would protect her. Unlike the French Queen and her horrid son, he would not fail his family. He gripped her arm and ordered her to look at him. "Mary, I am not asking you to come with me and fight my wars, I don't know where you come from or where your family is but you are with me now and the Queen's soldiers are bound to come. South of London is loyal to my father but the truth is the Queen is ruthless and Margaret of Anjou has many spies. If she finds someone, as insignificant as you are, that came into contact with me, she and her cruel son will kill you."

Mary shuddered. This Margaret almost sounded like a female version of her father. Wait! Mary's brain rewind his speech. Margaret of Anjou has many spies ...

"So you will have to come with me or else." He took her hand again and led her out of the tavern and into an Inn to an upstairs room he said they would have to share until morning when they would get on the first ship to take them out of England and join his brother's forces.

"You said Margaret of Anjou." She said, repeating what he had said earlier in the tavern after she changed into the closed he gave her.

"Yes, bastard woman. She will not let any of us go. You must hate me for saying this, more if you are of Lancaster but damn the red rose. Perhaps it is just they are the red rose for all around them is death. Blood and gore."

Silence.

Mary looked at her surroundings, paying attention for the first time and remembered his clothing on their first encounter. He was blanched, sweating, panting, and shouting foul curses. She looked at his eyes, sapphire blue like she remembered from the portraits she'd seen of her great-grandfather, Edward IV, and his eyes were almond shaped although not as open as her father's. He had a regal bearing, finer even than anyone in her family. His hair was brownish-gold. He looked like one of the mythical deities she used to read so much about.

Taking in everything that happened and her last wish before she had 'died', she smiled. God had given her a second chance. Or maybe it was not god and it was the devil? Mary shook her head. It had to be god. Even if it hadn't been him who sent her here, this was all part of His plan. Everything was part of His plan. Suddenly she heard a strange sound coming from the running waters, it was almost as if there was a voice calling to her.

A musical voice.

"M'lady are you alright?"

"What? Oh yes, yes, I am fine." She said turning to him then turned her attention back to the window from where she could see the ocean, hear the ocean. It was almost as if the splashing was the ocean itself communicating to her, telling her of her new destiny.

Maybe she had been right and it had been another force who had granted her wish. Whatever it was the all knowing god was behind it.

She smiled with the knowledge that He was behind this, and convincing herself of this as she continued to hear a musical voice reassuring her that everything from now on would be fine, she turned her head in his direction. "Yes, I am very fine, m'lord. May I inquire what's your name? You said that you were for York."

"I am and you are very smart, but I would keep that wit to yourself. These are dangerous times and people don't like smart people, especially smart girls as yourselves." Mary nodded. He went on. "I am Edmund of house York. Edmund Plantagenet at your service.' He said formally without making a bow. He didn't consider it important and she was just a peasant girl.

Mary smiled. The earl of Rutland from what she remembered from her history lessons with her tutors. "Lord Rutland then, what a surprise to find myself in your presence. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. If the queen's forces finds me I will be earl of nothing and my head will land on a wooden spike on top of the tower or worse in some filthy city for everyone to see."

Mary shook her head. Despite always being told the Yorks were nothing but upstarts and traitors, despite being taught to hate them, she could not help but wish this was not so.

Hearing the ocean as suddenly all had grown quiet. It was as if the people's screams, insults, and laughter had died and there was only the waters and the sound of the wind hitting against her window. She felt strangely calm as she heard this and saw him, calmly smiling at her as she smiled back.

"How old are you?" He asked.

"Fourt-" she stopped. She had almost said forty two. But judging by the way he looked at her and by how her voice had sounded and how her hair was redder than she'd ever witnessed since she had been princess of England, she said "Fourteen m'lord."

"Good age. I am surprised your parents haven't married you."

"I have no parents m'lord." He furrowed his brow and looked at her in surprise. She did not feel uncomfortable, she drew confidence by the waves outside and the sound of the waves hitting against the ships and the violent winds almost as if they had been summoned by an evil force.

"How?"

"They died when I was too young. I have little memory of them." She said. It was half truth. Her parents ceased to exist when she was young. She didn't see her mother for years and when she did, she had been eleven and she had told her to never forget what she was. That she was daughter of the true queen of England and someday she would be queen. How wrong she was. She became queen but she was never loved. She was betrayed and humiliated by the daughter of her enemy, her beloved sister Elizabeth.

Edmund could think of nothing more to say. He gestured to the hard bed behind him. "Where will you sleep?" Mary asked concerned. This was a prince in the making. If he didn't die he would be one of his brother's heirs. He could not sleep on the cold floor like some beggar.

But he assured her the floors were warm and he took blankets to make his sleep more comfortable. Mary went into bed and wished this was not a ruse, that this was not a dream, another cruel twist of fate and that she would wake up to the same pain and loss she'd known all her life.

But the following morning she found it wasn't. Edmund was awake and hurrying her to get out of bed. They saw the soldiers had arrived and were inspecting every ship. Somehow they had to get into one of those ships -he said, and Mary did not doubt knowing that the Yorks were famous for not being quitters, that he would find a way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Plot bunny taken from Mimi dubois:  
**

_What if... Edmund Plantagenet is NOT beheaded after the Battle of Wakefield in 1460 along with his father. What if he is allowed to live? What if he is the one that Mary ends up having the relationship with? Not George Duke of Clarence. His title was Earl of Rutland. He could be made Duke of Rutland._

**Altered some of the ages to fit the story and the events surrounding the war of the roses.**

**Once again thanks to Mimi dubois, Vader's mistress, Ladyjaxs999, Couture212 and to everyone who has reviewed.  
**

**A lot of sources I used for this, most of them provided by Mimi dubois and Vader's mistress and thanks to Ladyjax for her book recommendation too. I am indebted to them. I strongly recommend their stories, they have some of the best au couples  
**

**Just to point out, I am not basing Edward IV appearance on his historical but instead on Max Irons who plays him in the white queen.**

* * *

Mary swept, her forehead drenched in cold sweat. What a weird dream. She looked frantically around, the waves had woke her up.

She remembered Edmund had woken her up the day before.

_"Mary, Mary!" She opened her eyes. He had been shouting for hours. She was still as a rock. It was not until it began to pour that she woke up. _

_It was as if the rain called her. He only remembered one other woman who was called by water, and looking at her closely as she opened her dark gray eyes, he wondered if she too was too was descended from that woman's demonic line?_

_He shook his head mentally as she stirred and opened her arms. "Mom, I want to go back to bed."_

_"No time." He pushed the blankets from her slender body and forced her out of bed. _

_"No change of clothes? I thought you said-"_

_"I said nothing. No time, we must go. If my intuition is correct. They will be coming for us quickly."_

_"Margaret of Anjou?" Mary asked. She was eager to meet this brave woman. She never thought of her as a tyrant. Her father always said that she was a woman born of the devil but Mary never thought so. She was a woman fighting for her right and her son's right to hold the crown. _

_Perhaps I will -Mary thought but her hopes were dashed as he took her hand and led her out of the Inn. He paid the owner and rushed to the first ship that set sail to France._

She tried hard to remember what he had said but then as she saw the familiar ruins (not ruins here but great castles restored to their glory, very different from her time) she realized they were not in France. In fact, the young Earl never intended to take them to France. He had lied to her! She gasped and went out of her cabin into his rooms where he was conversing to whom -guessing by their serious faces- could only be his father's generals.

"You lied to me!"

Edmund and his general glanced at each other and the young York Earl nodded to him and he left the rom.

"I had to." He said. He gestured to the bed next to where he sat. "Please sit." Her face was a mask of fury.

She knew she was naive and an idiot. Never trust a York her father always told her. York were liars, cheaters, opportunist, nothing but wolves of the worst kind. They reaped and lived off the work and sweat of others. That's how they had won the throne. And they could barely hold it because their stupid heir had to marry a commoner of all people!

She wondered if when the day came when she would see her great-grandfather crowned, if she would like this woman. Elizabeth Woodville. She was her great-grandmother, her kin, after all. But something in her told to distrust her but something other told her to trust her. Just who could she listen to.

Deciding it was better to calm down, she took his offer and sat next to him on his feather bed. Unlike the bed at the Inn, this was soft and his cabin was filled with luxury. Another folly. She realized. Yorkists were known to be vain, another trait her father possessed from them. Even when he hated them and did nothing but speak ill of them, she couldn't help but notice what a hypocrite he was when he surrounded himself with vanities.

And wasn't she the same? She gambled on high stakes. She had gambled on the throne and taken the people to rise against her cousin, the Usurper Jane Grey -much like her great-grandmother, that witch Elizabeth Woodville had called on the people to rise against the usurper to her son's throne, Richard III. But unlike Elizabeth, she had triumphed. And yet her triumph didn't last. Elizabeth Woodville's youngest great-granddaughter got all the acclaim. She was seen as the more beautiful, the one with bewitching eyes. The "true rose" some called her "of Lancaster."

Perhaps she was -Mary thought. Bess was always said to be the real red rose. Maybe Mary was cursed by her visions, by hearing the sound of water -she remembered when she was little and she would play by the lake, enchanted by her father's tales that they descended from a water goddess through their great-grandmother's French line, Melusine. She claimed she heard the goddess speak to her but when her mother heard her say these things, she brought her to the altar and told her never to speak such things. Since then she had never gone near lakes or rivers again. But even at night she could hear musical voices telling her that she was beloved but she always told herself it was her Lady of Heaven assuring her this.

Now she was plagued with visions, now that she was closer to the water, visions of her sister's reign, what it will be and what this new world held for her and as she realized this, she also realized what a fool she had been in trusting this man.

"You tricked me!" Mary shouted. She was going to shout more, when she felt the soothing voice of the waters as the captain of the ship yelled that they would land very soon; that she stopped and let him explain.

"I did and I am sorry I but I had to be sure."

"You said your brother was in France, you said that you were going to take me to safety but you've just pushed me into harm's way."

"No, I haven't Mary. I thought my brother was going to flee to Brittany but then when I heard that Jasper Tudor was thinking of going there in case he lost -because you know Tudors are known for running away and being opportunists- then I thought against it and just now the captain of this ship who was loyal to my father told me the greatest news."

"And what news is that?" Mary asked ignoring the small insult to her father's family.

"My brother has not fled. He is safe. My younger brothers must be of course under my mother's protection and poor of my mother. I can almost imagine how she must be. Come to think of it, I don't want to. They must have told her by now that her husband was slain by the bastard queen and her son." His face twisted in disgust at the thought of his mother, proud Duchess Cecily having to bend the knee for Lancaster, along with his two brothers. "But now the tide is turning and victory shall be ours."

"Ours? What do you mean ours?" She asked, dreading what she knew he was going to say next but the melody that came from the waters stopped her. And then as the captain yelled "We are here!" and the ship stopped, Edmund grasped her shoulders then led her outside, he said -"Victory m'lady. Victory. And extended his hand all across the Northern view of the Welsh marches.

So she was back. After all these years. She thought. And now it was more ironic. Before she had been here as Princess of Wales, now she was here with a Yorkist traitor and at the lion's den. If what he said was true as he led her to his brother's (her great grandfather, Edward's) stronghold, then she could die at any minute. Her great granduncle Jasper Tudor would not rest until all of the late Duke's sons were dead.

Funny, betrayed by my own family and my naivety again. She thought with a wry smile. Somehow the prospect that she would get to meet her great grandfather soothed her. She was told by the old crones at her old household in Wales, when she had been Princess of Wales, that he was handsome and everyone woman would fall in love with him at the spot.

Her clear disappointment must have been visible when Edward saw her. He looked at her with amusement as his brother hid her from view. He was happy to hear he had escaped and when he disembarked he embraced his brother and welcomed him back into their midst. Then he saw the girl whose features were hidden from him by her dark cloak.

She must be ugly -was his first thought. And she seemed so because his brother would not let him see her. Edward shook his head and told Edmund to get himself refreshed and take the hideous creature with her.

When she came down again, she was still wearing that cloak despite she had been bathed and dressed in a better dress than her family could ever afford.

"Please take that off, if you are going to allow her to be among us, tell her to show her true face. Unlike Lancasters mistress whoever you are, we don't cower before our betters." Mary scowled. This vain man, this vain ancestor of her reminded her so much of her father. They even looked alike.

Mary was about to say no when Edmund's look told her don't even think about it. She rolled her eyes and did as the vain York Earl (now Duke too since his father's passing) told her to and he was immediately taken aback by what he saw.

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen m'lord."

"Mistress you must forgive me. I thought you had the face of a nun but you are clearly not. You have the face of a nymph."

Mary blushed, her cheek reddened even more as she lowered her gaze and could hear him getting closer. He tipped her chin. "Look at me." She did.

He smirked. This was the shrew that his brother had complained? No wonder he kept her under lock and key. He didn't want one of the Lancaster soldiers or even their own raping this little nymph.

Her eyes were filled with water, dark grey and incredibly bewitching. They hooked him. His brother's clear throat brought him from his thoughts. "Ah yes. Mistress ..."

"Hill. Mary Hill, my lord." She said quickly, using the first name that came to mind. Hill was a man that she used whenever she wrote to her cousin, the Emperor, Charles. She sent letters to his ambassador who in turn, delivered them to his master through one of his many channel. It was safer -he said, to use a fake last name. Mary was a common name and no one would suspect it, so she invented a last name, one so common and used by bastards that nobody would suspect her.

"Mistress Hill." He repeated. The name sounded so odd but seeing as she had come from nowhere when his brother was on a run, he wasn't surprised. Another bastard. "You are welcome to stay here for the time being. My brother probably told you that war shall ensue soon."

"I thought war was already ensuing." Mary said, keeping her tone and expression as neutral as possible but she failed. She was never a good actress the way her sister and their mothers had been, and Edward saw through her mask and burst out laughing.

"Let me tell you something mistress Hill, I can see you don't like me and you probably think that we Yorkists are usurpers and opportunists but let me ask you this: If you had a way to end all wars would you?"

"Of course!" She said. What was this man asking her? Was this some kind of riddle? Of course she would end all wars if she could.

He laughed louder. "You love peace then, good, good. So let me ask you again, if you could end all wars for good would you do it -no matter what the price, no matter who and no matter through what means. You don't have to answer now but think on this hard. Brother ask them to send some wine."

"Edward are you sure that's wise? Mistress Hill is just a commoner, she shouldn't sit at our council-"

"Don't be so serious little brother. Mistress Hill please stay and don't listen to my brother. You are looking at the new king of England."

"Henry of Lancaster still lives." Mary said as they brought ale. Wine was all gone. Their supplies were nearly exhausted and this meant they would have to wait weeks, maybe months before they attacked the queen's forces.

"Yes but not for long and in any case you need not to worry. The rightful king will be put on the throne. My father was His Grace heir. He said so, he signed it. The queen can't deny our rightful claim."

"But King Henry is a direct descendant of Edward III and the conqueror's son."

"Yes and his wife is a French whore who opened her legs for Beaufort. Dear god just look at what everyone calls her prince Edward. The Swan! They even have made a mock badge of it, haven't they brother?" Edmund nodded, agreeing with everything his older brother said. In a few months he would be crowned King of England and they would be the first family in the realm.

"Cheers." He said raising his cup of ale and drinking the whole thing in one big gulp.

"I don't believe the queen could have gone so low to give His Grace a son."

"You don't believe the allegations then? Everyone in England has been gossiping about it since he got her -excuse me -since Beaufort got her with child." He and Edmund and their servants as they came to bring fresh food, cheese, bread and fruit on the table, laughed.

Mary was the only one who remained steel-faced.

"Don't be so naive mistress Hill. This is not the flee infested streets you came or wherever you came from but everyone knows that Henry's queen is a whore. French women are known to be very worldly. Right, brother?"

"You should know better Edward, you were born there."

Edward threw his head and laughed. "Yes, that's right. I remember the things my mother would not let me hear. Makes me wish we were in France, we could have some action there, some wild action not this blood bath that's ensuing because the queen decided to play the whore."

Mary thought she was going to be sick. How could these men, these so called men of honor say such things of their queen? Of course they were Yorkists, they had no honor. Just then she heard a melody, the melody of water as it began to rain. Almost as if it was telling her, calling her to arms. She instantly knew what it meant and she grew still and dropped her hands and placed them on top of her skirts.

"Poor mistress, I think we are frightening her. Let's change the subject shall we Your Grace?" Edmund said using Edward's new title with a mock tone.

Edward nodded and ordered more food be brought then, after they finished their modest feast, he invited his generals, and with them and Edmund began to discuss their strategy for their assault on Lancaster.

"The war to end all wars." He boasted and turned to Mary giving her a sly smile. Mary turned her head away then she turned it back and centered her eyes at Edmund who unlike his brother, gave her a kind smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Plot bunny taken from Mimi dubois:  
**

_What if... Edmund Plantagenet is NOT beheaded after the Battle of Wakefield in 1460 along with his father. What if he is allowed to live? What if he is the one that Mary ends up having the relationship with? Not George Duke of Clarence. His title was Earl of Rutland. He could be made Duke of Rutland._

**Altered some of the ages to fit the story and the events surrounding the war of the roses.**

**Thanks to Vader's mistress for the sources and Mimi dubois for the book suggestions and to everyone who's reviewed. Please keep reviewing.**

* * *

February 1461.

Mary steeled herself. Two long months in this hell hole. They ate nothing but cheese, the same fruit and drank the same sour beer. Mary asked to be excuse one morning when she found it unbearable the way Edward was eying. Good god this man was her grandfather and at this point she was young enough to be his sister! What was he thinking?

Mary sighed. She wished she had the strength to go on but she couldn't. She knew they would win, even when the whispers of the people around them said they would not. They would win. Because that was how history was written and god had willed it. Or so she believed at the time when she heard the chivalric stories of her great grandfather Edward IV.

But he was nothing more than a lecher, a lecher and a fool. How could this man ever rule England? She asked herself.

There was only one candle lit in her room. She liked it that way. She opened her book, one of the few treats she had been allowed during her captivity and began reading the first lines. She was fascinated by these romances. Her mother always prohibited, she said that a daughter had to study science, politics, philosophy. She doesn't need to concern herself in poets and romances -she said. But now Mary had all the freedom in the world and she couldn't believe the worlds she entered when she read Troyes and read from the courtly love ballads from Henry III's time.

She closed her book as she heard the door open and hid it underneath her pillow. "My lord." She said bowing before the Earl of Rutland.

"Mistress Hill. We part tomorrow."

"Where?"

"Herefordshire."

"Herefordshire? But I thought you said-" she rolled her eyes. He chuckled at her angry expression. She should have known by now not to trust him. "You tricked me again."

"No mistress, I am afraid this time we have tricked each other." Mary knit her eyebrows in confusion. "My brother you see, has decided to lead a contingent in Herefordshire. For reasons unknown he's decided to do this at the last minute and Jasper Tudor's forces will be there."

"So you will go to battle?"

"Yes, I am afraid."

"Are you? I mean -are you afraid?"

"A little. What man isn't afraid? This is the end, is it not? If this is really the end as the Tudors claim it is, then we will have nothing but death on our shoulders. Funny thing I told my brother 'This is the country you are inheriting' and yet he said 'so be it, it will be as god wills it'." He shook his head. He had not inherited his parents' dry sense of humor and much less Edward's wickedness. His brother always had a way of seeing things. For him everything was easy.

"You think it is god's will?"

"Ah mistress Hill there is many things I think but one thing I am sure of is this -if we win I will give you your freedom. You will be placed amongst the highest common ladies in my mother's retinue. You will be among the new women, new men who will be given what we have longed for. Peace."

* * *

And so they went -the following morning as Edmund had promised. She followed them, sitting behind Edmund, her arms around his waist for support, on his black stallion, to meet their destiny.

* * *

The armies on the side of Lancaster were led by the mad king Henry VI and his French whore as everyone called her in the York camp, Margaret of Anjou and her seven year old son, the tyrant in making, Edward, Prince of Wales.

Mary shuddered. That boy would have been King. Just like her, he was robbed of her glory by an usurper, a popular one at that.

Mary clutched her cloak as they dismounted and got near Wigmore. She went close to the River, it brought her little comfort for Edmund led her away and told her she had to be present for their victory. "It is now or never." He said and with his brother they both cried and led their army against Lancaster forces .

They were led by her grand uncle Jasper Tudor. She could see the Tudor standard, the Welsh dragon. He was waving the flag proudly. "All of Wales for Lancaster!" He cried and the queen with him cried "All of England for Lancasters!"

Mary lowered her head and returned to the River where she looked at her reflection. She saw her youth, her dark grey eyes that seemed to grow clearer as her face approached the water. She could hear the singing of swords as they clashed against one another. _Soon, it will all be over_ ... She blinked. She turned around, but all around her was death. It was as if she as invisible, blood was splattered on the grass, men were perishing one by one, coughing blood or vomiting, their enemies thrusting their swords through their bellies or beheading them right on the spot. Among them she saw Jasper Tudor, his flag had fallen and he was all alone and yet he managed to slew everyone who crossed his path. He was admirable specimen yet Mary could sense no warmth from such a man as he took off his helmet complaining loudly that he couldn't breathe. There was no warmth in his face, this was no Welsh hero as her father preached. This was a tyrant, a man who would see everything in his path burn if he had it.

Mary turned her gaze and stared down at her reflection._ It will all be over soon._ Mary gulped. Her governess, Lady Salisbury had always warned her against witchcraft, but Mary was curious and she did -against her better judgment- follow the river's advice and next thing she knew she was in a different battlefield. In here there was a woman, a woman she knew to be the queen of the Lancasters, Margaret of Anjou. She rode with sword in hand commanding her army of mercenaries to slay everyone and then as her commanders came and cried defeat, she ordered her squire to put on the horseshoes backward on her horse to confound her enemies. She watched fascinated as the woman freed herself while the men loyal to her cause were left to die, defending what little they could of her cause. She and her son fled. Where? Who knew? But at least -those loyal to Lancaster- knew she was safe.

Then the scenery changed and she saw a beautiful woman before her. Her face completely white, her eyes blue, she was surrounded by mist. She pointed behind her but as soon as she did she as gone. Mary stared, blinked, and spun around. Edward riding valiantly slaying his enemies. He had the crown at last. Amidst a snowy field he claimed the crown for a second time and amidst pain of loss and backstabbing from his own kin, he came back triumphant.

The sun in splendor -he cried and then the vision changed and he and his queen, a woman she knew well. The queen of York, some claimed the last queen of York (for her father said that Anne Neville along with her husband as an usurper and therefore faithless whore and sinful creature just like he), stood next to him, her face covered in blood. Then the image changed again and she saw two beautiful children, two beautiful children that vanished and there was nothing on the grass but ice that melted and turned red.

All around her turned to ice and when that ice melted it turned to blood.

The woman she'd been staring at moments earlier pulled her back to the present, this new present and past for her, and she stared around her. There was nothing but dried up blood but the fields were astoundingly still green and men were flocking towards Edward, the newly crowned -by people's acclaim and the defeat by Lancaster and its domineering queen- King of England.

"His Grace Edward IV shall pardon you all if you bend the knee and swear complete and unquestionable loyalty to the house of York!" Edmund cried his brother's edict, standing next to him on top of his black stallion. He looked like a knight, a proud and beautiful knight. But unlike the songs his armor wasn't shining, it was rusty and stained with blood and matter from the men he'd cracked skulls with his sword.

"York! York! York!" The men cheered in unison and she heard that voice again telling her to go forward. Edmund lighted up watching her.

"Mary! We won! We won!" He said swung her in the air, his brother and Warwick looking at him in disapproval. She was nothing but a commoner here, a nobody and her red hair, her bewitching features often reminded them of the Lancaster king's half sibling, Jasper Tudor. And below, not unbeknownst to her as she stared down and locked eyes with them, Baron Rivers and his eldest son, Anthony Rivers, thought she looked like one of them, like a Rivers' bastard. But how was that possible? They wondered.

Could it be? Anthony thought to himself, remembering his mother's prophecy. He shook his head. No, it could not.

Edmund sat her down and as the sons of York rode to London, everyone else rode back to their homes. Those of Lancaster knew their cause had been defeated and they would have to dance to this new King's tune. But it had been worth it, they thought, those who were still loyal like Jasper Tudor who fled to his sister in law's home. It had been worth it to fight for the right cause because Lancaster, they felt, was the rightful ruler of England and it didn't matter that an usurper was in the throne of England. Lancaster would eventually return.


	4. Chapter 4

** I had a horrible writer's block. I am sure everyone knows how that is. Thanks to the people who got me out of it and to the author who's helped me brainstorming and with sources and to the rest who've also helped me with ideas.**

**Vader's mistress recommended me to read the song of ice and fire by George Martin and I did, I downloaded the audio books to my ipad and it's helped me, giving many ideas for the main characters. Gregory's books also helped, whatever you think of her, this is not a forum for discussion and I will not put up with flamers of any kind, these are my preferences. She lists every source at the end of her books. I recommend all of them.**

**Last, thanks to everyone who has reviewed, keep reviewing!**

* * *

"It's not over" Edmund cautioned Mary as they advanced to London. The rumors of the three suns –a vision Edward, their knew king claimed had struck him during the battle- had reached London. People were sowing golden lion banners with golden lilies on a blue background. Or so she was told. She wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

She chose to keep riding with the triumphant Yorkists after their defeat of Jasper Tudor's forces and the queen's in Herefordshire in a battle that would be known as the battle of Mortimer's Cross. He inspired his men with this "vision" of the three suns at dawn, a vision he had sown on a new standard. The three suns triumphant –the ballad was. The three suns of York.

"What about Richard?" She asked aloud, not as she intended, but she never thought things through and Edward and Warwick who rode on each side of the young earl, grimaced.

"What do you mean mistress Hill about Richard? What about him? He's not interested in politics, he only cares about loyalty, a man like that is not useful but then again, what would you know about such things. You who grew in haystacks and palaces of shit." Richard Neville said with derision.

Mary closed her fists. "I grew in turbulent environment, you could say it was just as turbulent as the battlefield." She shot back then turned her attention to their destination.

They would meet other dangers but she did not care. She had set the kingmaker in his place and how good it felt. This was the man, the turncoat who betrayed his own house, used his own daughters to place his family in the position of the first family in England. No different than what Thomas Boleyn and Thomas Howard had done. She already hated him.

* * *

They heard of Lancaster victory, small victories –Edward their new king claimed, but significant ones Mary thought if it gave hope to the remnants of the queen's and Jasper's forces. Yet this hope was not enough against the tide of the mighty suns of York.

The sun in splendor –they shouted. Warwick's forces, what remained of them after some hard losses and pyric victories in the West, came South to join them.

It was over. It was really over and for the first time Mary found herself smiling, genuinely smiling. Perhaps this was her destiny, to settle into the calm life serving the Yorks. Perhaps this was her destiny –to serve.

* * *

Edward could no longer claim that he was marching to protect his king. This had become a battle of life and death, a battle for the crown and he needed authority to claim his right to wear the crown. Thomas Kempe, an opportunist and a man who was always sure to be on the winning side, was the bishop of London and he was the first amongst the clergy to declare Edward their chosen king. When he asked the people of London their opinion and they replied with shouts of jubilation, Edward knew victory was all his.

"We must make plans." The kingmaker said. Mary listened hidden behind a curtain. She was interested to know what these men had to say about their future realm. Part of her wanted to be involved so she hid like a spy, and listened attentively to every word they said.

"Of course we must but cousin the coronation can't take place until I have Margaret and Henry executed and their prince as well."

Mary felt a pang of guilt, her heart beat fast. Kill an innocent child? She shook her head. Why was she surprised? These were the Yorks we are talking about, and they were known for treachery and kin slaying.

"Margaret of Anjou's forces have moved to Dunstable and we've lost her trail after the battle at Herefordshire. With her armies scattered and Jasper Tudor going into exile, we have nothing to fear. The Lancasters are all but defeated."

"But their king still lives cousin. He must bend the kneel or else I will always live under his shadow. As king I cannot have my reign challenged."

"I understand but we have already exhausted our resources fighting His Grace's battles, we must recuperate. The people are tired of bloodshed and to be completely fair, it would be unjust to put them through more."

"Fine then, it will be as my lord earl wishes. Anything else?" Edward asked gruffly, annoyed he had not gotten what he wanted. He passed his hand through his reddish brown hair.

"I have a suggestion." Edmund saying, although he knew the suggestion would have come from their cousin sooner or later if he hadn't made it.

"What?" Edward asked more annoyed. He wanted Henry and all his line extinct. As long as they lived they were a threat to his throne. Why couldn't they understand that?

"Brother our cousin is right. We must make plans, soon as we can for your coronation. You can have a second coronation afterwards but for now, for the sake of leaving it clear who rules Englnd, you should have one."

"That's a great idea, I couldn't have thought of a better solution myself." Warwick commented.

"Where will it take place?"

"Westminster Abbey of course is the first choice but who knows if the people are truly loyal. There could always be Lancasters amongst us."

"There could," Edmund agreed, "but it's highly unlikely. Your Grace, you've won, and when that crown is placed on your head, you will be our unquestionable ruler."

Edward smiled at that.

* * *

The coronation was done in haste in Westminster Abbey as Edmund had suggested. Two months later they received news that Margaret was rebelling again and assembling a larger army and worse was that Jasper Tudor was training these men.

"Her army is composed of mercenaries and brigands and it doesn't surprise me that Tudor's forces are a bunch of Welsh men who know no better but to rape and pillage."

"My father is descended from the Welsh." She said but he didn't hear her. He continued to talk about his battle plans. His family had been sent for to join them in London, jubilant as the rest of its citizens.

Mary immediately took a liking to the Duchess Dowager that was quickly crushed when the Duchess realized with alarm the affection her second son had for her.

She pulled her into a corner and said to her –_If I find you digging your nails into my son I will take your valuables from you. _To which she responded –_Madame, I have no valuables_. But she only laughed and left her all alone with her companions. Mary asked Edmund to change her but he remained adamant to keep her amongst her mother's ladies. He said it was the safest place to be and then his brother had said that she would benefit from such a woman like their mother.

She couldn't blame the Duchess Dowager for feeling that way about her. Once she was in her position when she saw her husband eying Bess the way a lover eyes his mistress, but this was her son and besides, she was not some ruthless harlot set on ambition like her father's mistresses. She just wanted a plain and simple life. Was that too much ask?

"Edward and Richard will mark North. Once and for all we will settle this matter. No mercy, no white flag, whoever wins."

"What about survivors?" Edmund said nothing. Mary paled. "You mean you will just kill all of them?"

Again Edmund said nothing.

"Edmund!" She started saying his Christian name, as they both had become accustomed to each other. "There are innocent men there, men with families, with hopes-"

"That is what war is Mary. And besides, don't you want peace?"

"Yes but not at this cost. There must be another way."

"There is no other way!" Edmund cried and Mary was taken aback by his tone of voice. She took a step back. Edmund sighed and walked towards her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Their faces were only inches apart. "Look Mary if I could, I would have peace, I would spare all the men these useless wars. Truly I would but this is no idle world we live in. This is no song where men save maidens and restore the peace to their country. This is bloodshed, war is all about power and profit. But for once, just for once, we might change that. We might finally achieve peace."

Oh my lord earl now who is the dreamer –she thought but said nothing.

"You truly believe that the sun will always be in splendor?"

"The sun in York will always be in splendor." He said, it sounded like a reverence. Then he did something that surprised them both. He kissed her.

She was unsure what to think but a smile crept on her lips and she blushed. And god knew what made her act like a foolish love struck maiden but she said with an open smile, "I shall wear this like a badge of honor."

"I will hold you to that promise great lady." He said then left her chambers and rode away with his brother and cousin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to all the people who've reviewed, keep reviewing.**

**I have tons of sources I used for this chapter and the story and I will point them out now so I don't overwhelm each chapter with a huge author's note. Wiki, white queen clips, George Martin song of ice and fire that's based on the war of the roses, Richard III society (they have tons of sources there), blood sisters by Sarah Gristwood, Plantagenet chronicles by Derek Wilson, the Plantagenets the warrior Kings who made England by Dan Jones, she wolves the women who ruled England before Elizabeth I by Helen Castor, Margaret Beaufort mother of a dynasty by Elizabeth Norton, Richard III and the murder in the tower by Peter A. Hancock, the women of the cousins' war by Gregory and the fiction of Penman and Beatrice Small a dangerous love (I never imagined for the best of me reading romance but it's a good one and it provides a good look to the Plantagenets in their last days). Thanks to vader's mistress, ladyjaxs999 and mimi dubois for recommending some of these titles.**

* * *

1461-1464

Mary bowed before the new king. They were right. Today the sun king of York was rightly admired and feared. Everyone had been blinded deceived by the opulence of the celebrations. But no one seemed to mind. After the battle that would come to be known as the battle of Towtown, Edward had come triumphant, this time –he claimed there would be no rival to the York dynasty. Edward of Westminster with his mother sought refuge in France. They welcomed them naturally as it was the place of his mother's birth, but it would not be for long.

Edward's cousin, Richard of Warwick drew up a contract and the contract read "His Grace by the grace of God shall marry the daughter of France …" but by the time that Edward was about to sign it he declared he was already married.

Richard flew in a rage, took the young man by his ear and took him in the room beyond the presence chamber in his study.

"I am sorry Your Grace," everyone said, "but it's true."

Mary looked at Edmund. "Did you know about this?" He shook his head. But what was left to say? It was better to appear a deceiver than the fool, and if Edward kept this a secret and didn't even trust his closest family than what message did that give to the rest of Europe. It would be a sign of weakness, Edmund stepped forward with their youngest brother, Richard Plantagenet, Duke of Gloucester and claimed they both knew.

Richard did not look too happy. Mary scowled, she hated this young man. He was silent but behind those innocent eyes she knew that he threading his path to ambition, yet his older brothers claimed that he was loyal and Mary had no choice but to believe them. For now …

The fabled queen of York arrived three weeks after. Bedded and married, Mary was sure it had been in that order, Edward had taken a commoner as his wife. It was the scandal of Europe, and yet Mary could not fault her for doing something that Mary would have surely done if she had been in her position.

Elizabeth took Mary in the queen's presence chamber on night while she was sorting out through her new gowns, looking for something appropriate and dazzling –all in one- for her family and ladies to wear at her coronation.

She did not bear any of the haughtiness and unbearable pride that Anne Boleyn wore, in fact she was nothing like the concubine.

Mary stepped into the queen's chambers and bowed before her.

"Ah, mistress Hill. We have heard much of you." Elizabeth said and looked at the woman with a careful eye. She had seen how she hid from the rest of the men, Edward because of his younger brother, Edmund the Duke or Rutland, guarded her zealously –And she saw now why.

She gestured for her mother to step forward. "Is she not beautiful mother?"

"Yes." Jacquetta had to admit. There had only been one woman she knew to be beautiful besides herself and that had been her Elizabeth but now there was also this creature, this girl who possessed unearthly beauty. And she was beautiful, beyond beautiful, her attributes were of other worldly, it was almost as if she descended from the gods themselves. And she was so young. She would have to know how to use them if she wanted to survive in this treacherous environment.

"How old are you mistress Hill and how long have you been in the Duchess service?"

"The Duchess Dowager's service, about three years, no more, no less Madame, and I am eighteen."

"Eighteen, a good age, ripe for marriage."

Mary's head shot up, she straightened.

"Mother, you are frightening. Don't be frightened dear, you won't be married unless with our consent." She said and wiped the cold sweat that trickled down the girl's forehead with her handkerchief. She beckoned her to come forward and join her ladies.

"Madame, I would like nothing more but my lady the Duchess will be angry if I don't come."

Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively at her words. "Let the Duchess worry, I am queen now and you are now in the queen's service. You should be happy."

"Let her dismiss you." Elizabeth added with a smile that almost convinced Mary of her goodness.

* * *

The coronation took place on May 26. It was a beautiful occasion. People threw white petals at their new queen.

They say they love her now, but people always change their minds –she thought and found herself being sad for what this queen, this fair headed woman would have to endure at the hands of her enemies._ Why is it_ –she thought as they went to the great hall of the palace to feast- _that the good must always be punished by the wicked?_

Edmund, newly named Duke since York's last triumph in the North; said that the Riverses were nothing more than social climbers. But Mary argued it was not so, "You cannot fault them for taking their destiny in their own hands. My parents said never to be afraid to do what you want if you know you are in the right. My mother said that you always had to put others above yourself but little good it did her."

"I think your lady mother, god rest her soul, is right." Edmund said, taking a piece of chicken in his mouth.

Edward was in heaven, he had rid himself of Warwick. In a way he had always found himself hating their cousin Warwick, because he knew he owed it to Warwick that put him in the throne. He knew that if it hadn't been for Warwick's forces none of this would be. Everyone owed their success to the kingmaker and Edward hated him for that, because if one thing his brother hated, it was owing people things.

A week after the celebrations, Elizabeth announced that her younger sister, Katherine Woodville would have to be wed. Everyone knew whom, but no one dared to contradict Edward's new queen. Her mother took charge of everything. She took a special liking in her daughter's new lady in waiting, the dirty nymph –as some called her –Mary Hill.

"Mistress Hill will you join me in prayer?"

"Yes, my lady." She said and left her companions to join Elizabeth's lady mother, the lady Rivers.

After their prayer session she asked Mary the same question Duchess Cecily had asked her, "What are your intentions with the Duke of Rutland?" but instead of a hint of scorn or envy, she had one of amusement and she even had a smile on her face. "Do not lie to me girl, I have seen the way you've looked at the Duke, he is handsome my lady but I should warn you, like my daughter you will get powerful enemies and I not only mean his mother but his younger brothers too possibly."

"You are right my lady and I am glad that we speak frankly but my own intentions with my lord Duke are my own and I do not want anyone to be involved."

"You have a good heart but you are very naïve. One would have thought after all these wars you would know better, but don't say anything, I can see the anger in you, I see the determination burning in your grey eyes. You want to have this boy," she stated then lowered her voice and leaned forward to say in her ear "I can help you. My family will soon be the most powerful family in the realm besides the Nevilles, you can be part of the elite, you can have allies. Do not do this alone mistress Hill, otherwise you will be squashed by Warwick's boot and I warn you, a woman without friends in this court will not survive."

Mary considered the lady Rivers' offer. In the weeks to come as the betrothal between Katherine Woodville to Henry Stafford was announced and the Woodvilles were fast becoming the most powerful family in England, Mary once again thought on the lady Rivers' words.

As she stood by the river she thought over and over, the many times she had trusted her loved ones. Lancasters, the red rose of Lancasters. She smirked. What had they done for her? "Nothing" she whispered and she took out her scarlet leather boots that Edmund had sent her as a gift last February. It had been a secret from his mother, Edward said it was his present, but everyone knew the truth.

Edmund who, like his brother had his tall physique, his build, his reddish brown hair, and the same shape of eyes (except Edmund's were sky blue). Would he ever marry a girl like her? Even if she were to come to him, Princess Mary of Wales, Lady Mary, Queen Mary I, would he accept her? A repudiated daughter of a king?

No, she thought; but then she was struck with a vision and she heard singing coming from the water. She dipped her feet in the water, and just as before she was taken by the spirit of the river and she saw all around her the same field she had been in before, except this time she saw a red haired woman. Herself, except much older, the same age she had left her own world. She stared back at her with confusion then a smile crept on her lips, a happy smile that Mary had not seen on herself in many years. She opened her eyes and looked around her. She was back on the other side of the river. She walked back to the palace, her clothes all soaked.

The lady Rivers was the first one to receive her, she smiled, an all knowing smile as if she knew what had transpired and ordered a new gown be brought to her.

She was dressed in a gown of yellow with pearls and a simple necklace. When Mary looked at the necklace she was surprised to find a mermaid engraved on it. "What is this?"

"Your ancestress as well as mine." Lady Rivers said and before she could say a word of protest she asked her, "Have you consider my words?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I accept."


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for all the reviews I've received and continuing to favor this story.**

**A/N I changed Elizabeth of York birth to 1465. The sources I used are listed in the previous chapter, thanks to Mimi dubois for suggesting the spitfire, that and the rose of York trilogy by Sandra Worth gave inspiration to this chapter.**

* * *

1464-1465

"We've managed to salvage some of our French alliance but they will never trust again." And it can be rest assured is thanks to you -the earl of Warwick wished to say.

They dined at Greenwich, the Palace of Placentia as Margaret of Anjou had renamed it. Since Edward became king, he'd given its old name back but some of the old nobles who'd been familiar with the former queen's court still called it by that name.  
The king had moved court there advised by his brother whom, Warwick was sure, was advised by that dirty nymph.

Of all the women in England, his eyes had to fall on her. The king was not far behind, he was bewitched by his king but he let his eye wander occasionally to the little dirty thing. It didn't surprise him why the queen kept her close, very close. She knew her husband very well and his reputation had not lessened even after he'd taken her as a wife. But unlike the rest of the king's women, Elizabeth guarded him jealously and the Riverses were an ambitious family who let no one or nothing get in their daughter's way.

Mary kept avoiding his gaze. She wanted to tell him and the whole Neville family of her fine lineage and walk all over them. Simon de Renard, Chapuys, Van der Defelt -they had all promised her the crown and said the English people would accept her. Crowned by popular acclaim -they said- like Edward. She smiled inwardly. How they loved to tell her lies to keep her happy, to keep her a puppet of the Emperor. It was not until she married Philip that she realized this. Not any noble had taken a stand for her when she slaughtered Wyatt and his rebellious followers, not one noble. Since then she had distrusted the English people and its nobility and she had turned to Spain for support but her mother's country had abandoned her too.  
There was no one she could trust in this world, she decided then, except herself. And the Riverses but the Riverses had ambitions of their own and they were only helping Mary because it was convenient to them. When it was not, they would abandon her just like the rest.

The earl, Mary noted, was more nervous than usual, his gaze continued to shift between the two sirens who'd lured the two older Yorkist brothers from their true loyalties to house Neville which was responsible for their success. "We will make another alliance once Your Grace grace us with a son."

"Of course but that won't be until god wills it." The queen said intelligently evading his next line of criticism.

"Tell me my lady how long will it be before the country erupts in riots again? There have been rumors of supporters of Lancastrians still abounding in the land." Warwick added avoiding to call her queen, hoping to bring out her anger so everyone would see how common she was but the queen, he found, was made of finer steel. She had experienced loss firsthand and knew how to control her emotions better than anyone. He knew she was disappointed not to be the first family in England.

"And the king is loved throughout England thanks to my family. You must be proud. After everything you did your cousin is on the throne."Queen Elizabeth said.

Mary shifted her eyes from Warwick to Elizabeth. Her great grandmother conducted herself with grace but like Mary's mother, she was making too many mistakes. She had not realized her mistakes until the end when she lay on her deathbed. Her mother could have played the fool and the plot against her father as Anne Boleyn would have surely done, but her mother was above that.

She lowered her eyes as Warwick glanced at her. She was another pebble in his shoe. If only his cousins had a better taste in women they would have the Lancastrian queen and her bastard son by now. But damn their sexual appetites.

"The king is where he is thanks to his family and pray to god that he remembers that Your Grace."

"Is that a threat lord Warwick?"

"It depends." Said Warwick "By marrying you he's forsaken his alliance with France. You owe it to him to remind him where his loyalties lie."

"His loyalty lies with his family." Elizabeth confirmed through gritted teeth, eying Neville hard.

"Your family is not his family. There is a reason why kings do not marry into their realms' houses and that is to keep power in the monarchy and not to favor one house over the other."

"And there is another reason." Warwick added seeing the pretentious woman was about so say something. "The king is young and it's not been five years since he's sworn in, he needs a Dauphine, an Infanta, a princess to justify his claim. His union with the princess of Savoy would have given us that but now thanks to you we have nothing."

"His union with the lady of Savoy would have given him nothing and you know it. He has no one better to council him but me and my mother is my councilor who is –I should remind you- the best councilor in the land. She's served a queen and knows more about foreign policy than any of His Grace's councilors' combined."

There was a deafening silence in the room. Mary raised her eyes, she looked at her great grandmother in admiration and gave her a silent smile. The earl glanced at her and she immediately lowered her eyes but she couldn't take away the smile of satisfaction from her lips.

"France was ready to give the king Margaret of Anjou, you realize that the king needs to have the Lancastrian queen and her son in custody or else they will always be a thorn at his side."

"So are you. With your talks of foreign policy and foreign unions, why should His Grace need foreign unions when he has England to take care of? I think you are jealous lord Warwick that His Grace is finally listening to common sense instead of you."

"I am the king's cousin my lady, I have been by his side, fighting by his father's side since before you decided to turn your cloak and wait for His Grace on Whittlebury forest under the guise of a poor widow. His Grace might have fallen for your guise but we all see through you."

"Is that so?" She said making a face that mocked him. "Then let me tell you something lord Warwick, I don't care what you or the others say about me, the king chose me and nothing you or others say can change that."

"Perhaps not to you but money in this court speaks louder than words and your family doesn't have all the money in the world I do." He said voicing his threats loudly for all her ladies who for the most were from her family, to hear, and turned to mistress Hill who remained completely still as a statue.

"Wouldn't you say so mistress Hill?" Warwick asked the dirty nymph, siren, goddess, he heard all kinds of names for this dirty commoner. Each time he saw her with the queen, commanding her to take the Duke, His Grace's younger brother, for a dance, it sickened Richard. How lowly the monarchy had fallen. All these wars, all this bloodshed for nothing.

He wished he could find some weak spot on his cousin to break the girl's heart but unfortunately like their witch queen, the dirty nymph had enchanted him and ruined him for another woman. He was bound to find something though. These were the York boys after all, and they were never known to stay faithful for one for long.

"Lady Rutland." The queen corrected with a triumphant smile. "It was done this morning."

"What?" He yelled, his temper rising. He looked to mistress Hill.

"It is true my lord." She merely said dropping her gaze again.

Warwick flew up in a rage. Damn that woman –he thought going to his chambers.

"Damn her!" He finally swore, aware his daughters, Isabel and Anne were present.

"I told you she would only bring trouble." His wife, the lady Warwick, told him.

"How can we combat them both? First it was only the king, now it's the king and his brother! And no better wed!" He screamed. At least the Grey widow was descended from the French nobility through her mother's side and –if he were to believe the rumors- a water goddess. But this girl in contrast, was nothing! A dirty urchin, nothing more.

He passed a hand through his dark curls. "Damn her. We can't have both king and duke under the Woodvilles' control."

"But what can we do? You let this fancy go too far."

"What do you want me to do? The Woodville woman planned this good, very good." He hated to admit. He sighed, and supported his chin on his fist. Somehow he had to figure this out. There had to be a way, some way to annul their marriages to the king and duke. The dirty nymph's was easier, she was a nobody. The Church would never put up with it, but as for the Woodville woman … how indeed?

* * *

Mary awoke. She was greeted by a smile from her husband's thin lips. "You have lips like a woman." She said and he gave a crisp laugh. He loved her dry humor. He did not want to hurt her but she welcomed the pain. It had been an eternity since she felt pleasure. She'd almost forgotten what it felt … down there.

"How does it feel that today everyone will bow down to you? Everyone in England will know you as the second woman in England."

"You mean the most powerful woman in England after the queen and your mother."

"No, not after my mother, after the queen maybe, but not my mother. Her time is past, but you and I are young, we are the new lions. We are as the Plantagenet dynasty in their golden years."

"Like Eleanor and Henry of Anjou." She said excitedly.

"Yes! And with nothing standing in our way the Plantagenet dynasty will once again be glorious."

"You think too much of your family. I've learned from my parents not to trust in your bloodline."

"What did your parents do that makes such a beautiful face like you so doubtful of everyone? Even my sister in law remarks that you don't open up to her like the other girls in her service."

"I am not like the other girls." Mary said. She wished she could open up like the other girls in her great grandmother's service, but she just couldn't trust anyone. After what her father, his wives, and her owns sister had done to her, she couldn't find it in herself to trust in anyone anymore. She doubted she could even fully trust Edmund. For as loyal as he promised to be, he was a man and she knew the true nature of men.

She looked down at her belly and he looked down as well, following her gaze. He read her thoughts and asked, "Do you think?" but she shook her head. The odds would not be in her favor. They'd never been. She doubted she even had the ability to bear children. Like her mother, like Elizabeth had always said behind her back, she might be barren.

But fate and the goddess of the rivers had other ideas.

Lady Rivers asked her on the following morning about children. The queen of York was with child and it was celebrated everywhere. Mary doubted that she would ever know that joy. "You never know. After my first marriage with the Duke of Bedford I thought I would never find love or be a mother but I found both. You and my daughter are lucky. Few nobles can say they love their wives but both of your husbands do. You should consider yourself blessed when you give him a child."

"If I can give him a child lady Rivers." Mary interrupted giving a placid smile. Lady Rivers linked her arm with hers and asked her to walk with her. Like any noble lady, the new Duchess of Rutland now had ladies in her service. Most of them Woodville girls or new girls seeking favors with the king or his favorite brother who was the closest to him in his government besides Warwick and Richard of Gloucester.

"What do you want to talk to me lady Rivers that we can't talk in the palace?"

"I enjoy talking with young girls like you."

"Girls like me?"

"Yes, beautiful girls who are also smart and have a lot of potential. All of my daughters have been schooled in this lesson –if you can have it, you must take it –but every time with caution. I always tell Elizabeth to be mindful of her surroundings. I don't have to remind you why, the court is very dangerous these days. Everyone is conspiring against everyone."

"Yes, I know."

"Of course you do. The duke must have told you." The lady Rivers said with an all knowing smile. "Can I ask you something lady Rutland?"

"Mary, please, I prefer you call me Mary."

"Mary." Jacquetta agreed. "Do you … hear songs at night? When you are by the river, do you hear songs?"

Mary did not know how to respond, she knew she shouldn't trust her but something in her told her she could and she told the woman everything, from her arrival to her true past.

The woman never blinked, she listened attentively to her narration.

"It's quite a life you've lived." Jacquetta said.

"You don't think I am mad?"

"No, you believe in your words and I can see the truth of them in your eyes. If you are who you say you are, that makes you the greatest woman in England. A queen in your own right. You must be proud. I think I should too that one of my descendants came so far."

"I think you should but not at me, it's my sister who will have all the visions. I am merely bloody Mary. That's what the commons called me when Philip and I rode the streets of London and they are right. I have nothing but a legacy written in blood."

"Nonsense" Jacquetta said chuckling, "You killed a few poor devils, what king or queen hasn't done the same in the name of god? I remembered when they burned Joan of Arc. She was called the saint by her people, the maiden they said, sent by god; next thing you know she is tied to a post and she's being burned. Poor ignorant men. I didn't hate them when they burned her, I pitied them."

"You must pity me too."

"In a way I do but you've been shown the light. Melusine has chosen you."

"She should have chosen Elizabeth, she is the one people loved."

"Melusine never makes mistakes. If she chose you, it's for a reason and look at what she's given you, a second chance. You must not waste it." Jacquetta advised.

There was a long silence until she asked her great great granddaughter "Have you had any visions of the future? What will happen to my daughter?"

Mary saw the lady Rivers, she could see her face dipped with worry. She didn't know what to say, she didn't want to change the past anymore than what it had already been changed but then the Riverses had been very good to her. It would be very rude on her part if she didn't return the favor.

"I-I … your daughter will give Edward many children."

"And a son?" Mary nodded. The lady Rivers showed in relief. She wanted to ask the young woman more but for now it would suffice. "We will speak more later, go with god lady Rutland." She said, letting the woman go.

* * *

"My lady." The Duchess Dowager, her former mistress, bowed before her former lady in waiting.

"Lady York, I have called you here because I wish to speak with you, if you would sit down-" Mary offered but the Duchess Dowager, proud and standing tall refused.

Mary's voice quivered. She focused her eyes on lady Cecily's but the older woman's eyes showed only hatred and contempt for the younger woman. The dirty urchin, another harlot who'd stolen her son.

"I want us to be friends lady Cecily. Edmund means a lot to me and a friendship between the both of us would mean a lot to me as well since you mean a lot to him."

"Did she send you?" The Duchess Dowager asked, referring to the queen.

"No, nobody did, this was all my idea. I wish us to be friends because I know how much your friendship would mean to my husband and to England."

"What do you know about England? You are just a silly girl from the slums of England, no better than my older son's harlot."

"I am not, I may not be of your liking but I can assure you lady Cecily I am no harlot."

"Why have you called me here?"

"I told you why." Mary said, sitting down. She felt a wave of nausea washing over her but she overcame it, concentrating hard on her mother in law. "A house divide is always weak. England is strong because the house of York is strong and as long as it is united it will keep being strong."

"House York will always remain strong." Lady Cecily said and Mary nodded.

"I don't doubt it." She said, "but it remains strong because every member of its house is loyal to one another. You don't like me and I don't fault you. If I were in your position I would not like a dirty urchin marrying my son either but we can't change the past. What done is done and we must make the best of it."

It took the Duchess Dowager a long time to answer. She pondered on the young woman's words. She was right but she was too proud to accept it. She belonged to the greatest house in England, she couldn't let anything she and her husband had planned go to waste because this dirty urchin had set her claws on her son but her words rang of truth. A house divided was never good. She remembered how great the house of Lancaster had been, now it was all but gone. Margaret of Anjou and her son were exiled, the Lancaster king was in protective custody, and Jasper Tudor had crossed the narrow sea, following the Lancastrian queen seeking refuge in Brittany.

No one was going to hurt them. And yet, Edward's reign was fragile. As long as the Lancastrian king and prince lived, the Yorks would never be safe.

"You are right." She told the young duchess. Mary's head perked up, her eyes widened in surprise. "However," Cecily said, "the Nevilles are a powerful family and the York house owns its success to my father's house."

Mary's face dropped. "My lady I hope you reconsider, the Riverses and I…"

"Are opportunists and will be squashed under my boot."

"You can't do that." Mary said, her face creasing with worry. She knew this woman had her mother's fighting spirit and she worried what she and Warwick were capable of, "If you were to accept the queen, everyone would be at peace."

"No one can be at peace lady Rutland, you must learn that if you are willing to sacrifice my son's own safety. The king's first priority is to his house. My son sacrificed his vows for you as well, it cannot go unforgotten."

"And what will you do? The king is the king Madame and nothing you say or do can change that. Nothing." Mary emphasized, feeling the anger that she'd left buried in her past resurface and taking control over her. She was not going to let anyone question her position, she'd done that when she was queen, but not this time.

The Duchess Dowager smirked, this was an intelligent girl but she was still naïve and stupid and naïve and stupid didn't sit well with the Duchess Dowager of York. She turned and left with her ladies.

* * *

It took Mary a month to confirm what she had been dreading. She was pregnant. Two months.

Mary felt overjoyed and worried. What if she miscarried it? What if she couldn't carry this baby to term? Or worse. What if she failed to give her husband a son?

These worries plagued her endlessly. Although they posed no immediate threat to Warwick's own power, Warwick resented the influence the queen and her family had over the king and, like his aunt, the king's mother, he felt, the king and his brother had betrayed their noble house.

Every day the queen's belly grew. She was fecund and Mary cheered for her. A baby was born the following year on February 11, 1465.

Mary envied her when she saw the baby, her grandmother, the fabled Elizabeth of York, named after her own mother. She was beautiful, as beautiful as her sister Elizabeth. Mary was chosen as godmother. A surprise to everyone since she was only a commoner, a dirty nymph –they called her.

Mary accepted. This was the second time she had felt overjoyed holding another member of her family. Her grandmother did not squirm in her arms. She accepted Mary as she accepted her mother's embrace. After the Christening, Mary went to back to her chambers. She placed a hand on her stomach. "You won't be as beautiful but I will make your life happy, I promise you." She said and she felt the baby kick.

Her labor came a month after the Princess was born. Mary howled. It was pain like she'd never experienced. Besides her ladies in waiting, a few of the Riverses girls, and the queen and her mother, lady Rivers, there was no one else present in the room. The physician was the only male and he told her it was imperative that she pushed but Mary was scared. She needed her husband and she called for his name but lady Rivers came to grip her hand harder and slapped the younger woman's cheek. This was no way for a Duchess to act –she said.

"I see the head." One of the midwives cried and the lady Rivers cried to Mary to push.

"I am afraid, I can't, I can't, I don't have the strength. I want my husband! I want my husband!" She cried over and over until the pain became too unbearable and worried that mother and child would die, Jacquetta slapped her again, harder this time and said to Mary: "Listen to me, if you don't push both you and the child will die and all of our work, everything you've gone through would have been for nothing. Is that what you want, hmm?"

Mary shook her head.

"Then push when I tell you to push!" Jacquetta bellowed and Mary obeyed her this time.

"Push!"

Mary threw her head back and gave one final cry. Finally the baby was wrestled from his mother.

"A girl!"

No –Mary whispered. He wanted a son. I wanted a son .

She was ready to lay her head down when she felt another hot stabbing pain. "There is another!" Elizabeth cried, looking at her mother in surprise. Jacquetta gasped, shifting her eyes to Mary. God bless us –she thought. This was a sign.

She urged her great great granddaughter to push. She did and everyone outside the room heard the mighty roar of the Duchess of Rutland combined with the cries of her newborn son.

"A son my lady."

"A son." Jacquetta told her, echoing the midwife's happy announcement.

"A son." Mary said._ A son!_

_I've done it. I have done what my mother never could. I have delivered a healthy son!_

She laid her head against the pillow and slept.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This chapter is short and it was inspired by game of thrones, all the sources and book recommendations everyone gave me, thanks Vader's mistress, Mimi dubois, Ladyjaxs999, Couture212 and everyone else who's also been contributing with your reviews.**

**I still can't get over what happened yesterday in game of thrones but it gave me ideas for next chapters.**

* * *

1465-1468

"You look radiant today my lady."

"Radiant, is that so?"

Mary nodded, as a well-trained actress she smiled and continued to smile as the Duchess Dowager ordered her to walk with her. She could have told her no, but, the Duchess Dowager was her mother in law and as Mary had told her last time, she did intend to befriend and win the woman over. If only she could change her mind and the Nevilles' mind, history would not have to repeat itself.

"You are a musical girl aren't you?"

"A better dancer than a singer I am afraid."

"Do you know the story of the dynasty before the Angevins?" Asked the Duchess Dowager casually.

Mary did, very well in fact. It was a story that her father never tired in telling his children over and over again, "Not as well as you do I am sure," she said however.

"House Godwin was a powerful family, the second most powerful ruling family in Europe in fact. Aren't the Woodvilles now the second most powerful family in England?"

Mary shrugged. She guessed so, she looked at the Duchess Dowager but her face betrayed nothing.

"But you know second climbers don't want to stop at the second highest run, if only you could take that final step you could see further than all the rest. So king Harold assembled a large army, the largest army everyone had ever seen. He began growing paranoid to have his power contested until one day, the Normans invaded and do you know where house Godwin is now?"

"Gone." Was all Mary said feeling bile rise up in her throat, knowing the threat that was to come, she could tell just by looking at the older woman's face.

"Gone, such a gentle word. Slaughtered." The Duchess Dowager corrected. "Every man, woman, and child put to the sword. I remember my lord husband telling me the story. Daggers plunged into men's bellies, children, no mercy, no sympathy, babies, bastards and not, born on the right side of the blanket, it didn't matter. They were smothered in their cribs while sleeping."

After a long silence that the Duchess Dowager let hang in the air while both women continued smiling at each other, she said "You are a bright girl, a beautiful girl, very ambitious." She grinned "A word of advise: Don't get in my way."

"I am not your enemy lady Cecily." Mary said in earnest.

The Duchess Dowager said nothing and walked away with her ladies following her, leaving Mary and her ladies all alone with a sense of dread.

* * *

"Say mama."

"She is not going to say mama anytime soon." Jacquetta said, smiling at her poor attempt to get the baby to talk. It was very hard to watch the scene without laughing. Jacquetta and the rest sniggered as Mary attempted once more but the child remained stubborn with her mouth close.

Elizabeth was pregnant again and she was hoping this time it would be a son but the king was in no hurry, he said it will be what god willed. But Elizabeth was in a hurry, all the Woodvilles were. They had tested their luck when their sister had ensnared the Yorkist king and now their lives depended on it. If she didn't give the king a son soon, the Nevilles and the Lancasters forces would turn against them. Jacquetta had seen it, the self-proclaimed sorceress, in a dream. She was even more desperate than her eldest child but she didn't show it.

Part of Elizabeth's fears though had waned thanks to Mary's son and her husband's support of her marriage. He as Edward was in the same boat with a commoner wife no one wanted and someone everyone in his court was against. Like Elizabeth it was imperative she had more children, namely sons.

* * *

The years passed them by and Elizabeth kept producing more children, all girls. Her litter of witches as Margaret Beaufort called them when her husband, the turncoat, Henry Stafford was out of earshot. And that other witch, the one the Woodvilles had put in His Grace's path to ensnare his brother, the Duke of Rutland, Mary Hill, kept producing more children as well, all girls.

It was a sign. God had smiled on them only once. The suns of York were setting, this was the time to attack, the time for Lancaster to rise again.

* * *

Warwick looked at his two daughters as they sat next to the king's youngest brothers, Richard and George. The youngest did not want to get involved in politics, he was a soldier, nothing more. Useless, Warwick thought, but the youngest. Ah, there was the key.

The deposed king, Henry of Lancaster had been captured in Lancashire three years earlier and sent to the Tower of London where he was being reasonably treated. Warwick considered freeing he deposed king from his prison and forming an alliance with the she-wolf of Anjou by marrying their son to one of his daughters but after hearing how unreasonable the queen and her son were becoming, he thought against it.

His wife followed his gaze, there was no smile on her face but there was a glee on her eyes as she knew what he was thinking and she couldn't agree more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to everyone for their support and reviewing this fic.**

* * *

"Mother … baby." Her oldest daughter said, pointing to her swollen stomach.

"Yes, there is a baby in there. How did mama get it in there?" Mary asked her, she loved playing these games with her daughters even when her ladies and the queen herself disapproved of them. As a child, Mary always played with the servants' children and as she got older she became the godmother of many of her tenants' children. She promised to herself that when she had children of her own she would be a constant presence in their lives, like her parents never were.

"Papa helped."

Mary's ladies sniggered. "Yes, papa helped." Mary said running her fingers through her daughter's long mane of reddish brown hair. Like both her father's her hair auburn, but unlike them, her skin was fair, fairer than any other Englishwoman for that matter, that it reminded Mary of her mother.

"Have you said your prayers?" Her daughter nodded. "And what do you pray for, my little darling?"

"A boy." Cecily said. Named after her paternal grandmother, she reminded Mary a lot of her own mother and the girl's namesake. Both women knew exactly what to say. They hid their thoughts very well.

"Is that right?" Cecily nodded eagerly. "You know you can tell mommy the truth. It's okay if you didn't pray for a boy."

Cecily seemed to consider her mother's question but then after a moment of hesitation she just repeated what she said earlier. "No, Cecily prays for boy."

Mary sighed in defeat and put her daughter down from her bed. "Alright then, off to bed with you."

"I don't want to go to bed. I want to stay here and pray with you."

"I know you do but mommy needs her sleep."

"When can I come?"

"Tomorrow." Mary promised, blowing her daughter a kiss as her governess came to take her away.

She had entered confinement a week ago but Edmund still came to see her. He received a lot of backlash from the midwives and her ladies who didn't look too kindly on Mary allowing him into the room. It was tradition that a woman gave birth to her babe in company of women. No men were allowed except for the physicians.

But Mary didn't care, she needed Edmund and she was constantly plagued by strange dreams of snowy fields and bloodstained battlefields. She wished she could know what all of them meant. Sometimes she was tempted to ask lady Rivers who said she could interpret these dreams for her great great granddaughter, but then she thought against it.

* * *

"My lady, you have a visitor." Her highest lady, Katherine Woodville, now Stafford, Duchess of Buckingham, told her.

"Who is it?"

"Lady Rivers, my lady mother, my lady."

"Let her in then and fetch me more wine." Mary told her and the girl nodded, closing the doors behind her, leaving only her and lady Jacquetta Woodville.

"My lady." Mary greeted sitting up.

Jacquetta gave a low bow before her distant relation. "My lady, it is good to see you in good health again. I trust my daughters and the other ladies are treating you well."

"Yes, everyone has been so kind."

"But …"

"It has been hard my lady. I cannot stop these dreams, these strange visions. Every time I wake up it's the same and I cannot go to sleep without being woken up by the same nightmare." Mary told lady Rivers her nightmares and Jacquetta nodded, listening attentively, never once interrupting her. "What do you think it means?"

"Well, since you are of my bloodline and the blood of the goddess runs in your veins, it can only mean she's trying to warn you."

"But warn me what?"

"That I cannot tell you."

"Why not? You said you could help me-"

"I said I could help you overcome your dreams, not interpret them. I can't know the will of our magical ancestress, only you can."

"Does my great grandmother, Her Grace, have these dreams?"

"No. She did at a time before His Grace came, but she has them no longer. I am afraid _she _doesn't speak to us at will. When she does speak to us, it's very rare and if I were you, I would record everything you dream. Put it on a piece of paper and keep that in your bible or on your book of hours, keep it somewhere where only you have access to."

Mary nodded, thinking of a few places, mostly books, she could hide it in. Jacquetta could see something else was bothering her and asked her what it was.

"It's this baby. Where I come from, my mother was mocked for being barren despite giving birth to me. Her first child was a boy, a healthy boy and she lost it, after that she went on to have girls, all of them dead except for me. For many years I tried to convince myself that I was a miracle. That god sent me here for a purpose but since my arrival, I am not sure anymore."

"You are afraid your son will die too?" Mary looked away. It was a possibility. Everyone kept saying how it was only a stroke of luck that she delivered a healthy baby boy. The house of York needed heirs, they said, and she and the queen kept having daughters. Mary feared that if she or the queen didn't have another son soon, the people would rise against them and set the Lancastrian queen and her son, Edward of Westminster, on the throne.

She would never forgive herself if that happened.

"Mary, look at me." Mary slowly turned her head around and faced her. Jacquetta cupped the woman's face with her warm hands and said, "Whatever happened in the past is in the past. Obviously you are here for a reason. I don't believe anything we do is by accident. You were sent here for a reason, it is up to you to discover what that reason is. As I told my daughter Elizabeth, I can't do these journeys for you, you must do them on your own."

"What if I fail? What if my son dies and Edmund rejects me?" Mary asked, her eyes were on the verge of tears.

She didn't think her heart would bear it if that was so.

"Nobody will reject you. The nobles might, your mother in law might, but you must stay strong, you must be stronger than the rest of them or else not only you, but your children will fall as well."

"But how can I when I have so much doubt?"

"You must. You overcame the taunts and jeers of your family once, you can overcome them again. You don't want to tell me what happens in the future, who your family is, if your family is our ruling family, I accept that, but I cannot accept seeing defeat in someone in my family, especially someone so strong. The white rose depends on you, your children depend on you. Think of that whenever you are in doubt, they are all that matter now." She said and let go of Mary.

Katherine, the Duchess of Buckingham, came moments later with a silver tray of food, and wine. Jacquetta took this as her sign to leave, having nothing else to say. Before she left however, she turned and said to Mary, "Remember what I said," then closed the door behind her.

* * *

Mary went into labor on November was an easy labor, unlike the rest where she had endured the pains of labor for hours, even days. This baby came out of her in a matter of minutes and Mary held her in her arms.

No son. Just another daughter.

Edmund was happy however. "You might not be the winter prince we wished for, but you are beautiful as your mother." He said, cradling his newborn. She had Edmund's reddish brown hair, his light blue eyes, and his rosy skin. There was very little of her in her daughter. She was a York through and through.

He sent her a diamond brooch with the letters M and E and teardrop pearl hanging from each letter a week after her churching. "Thank you." She said. It vaguely reminded her of the Pelegrina –the brooch Philip had given her before their wedding. He said that it was a symbol of their everlasting love.

She smirked. If he could only see her now. If everyone could see her now. The bitch, the barren Catholic tyrant, giving birth to another healthy girl.

They chose the girl's grandmother as one of her godmothers but she refused so the king was forced to ask her in person but Mary didn't want any trouble with the older woman –not after what she'd told her and opted for Jacquetta Woodville and the queen instead.

Mary was surprised when she found a familiar face at court. She asked Edmund who that was and he confirmed her suspicions. "Margaret Stafford nee Beaufort, Mary. She was the Duke of Somerset's eldest daughter."

"Was? Don't you mean is?"

"Was." Edmund insisted putting his golden cup down. "The Duke of Somerset died long time ago and since our victory, all of her mother's lands have been confiscated, including her brother in law's title."

"But what about her son, the earl of Richmond?" Her grandfather –she thought. "He is still earl of Richmond right?"

"That he is, but he is under the care of someone else. I am sorry love, I know this might seem strange to you but we can't run the risk of his mother poisoning his little mind with ideas of grandeur. He must be loyal to us and only to us." Edmund said after seeing her frown.

"But Edmund, the boy is just a little boy. How old must he be? Ten, eleven? He deserves to be with his mother." She placed her hand on his in a pleading gesture, earning looks of disapproval from many of the courtiers below who already disapproved of their union. "Think of our children, how horrible would it be for us if any of them were taken?"

Edmund sighed. Mary had a strong sense of honor he could not yet understand. He'd tried teaching her the ways of the court but she never trusted him, trusting in her own misplaced sense of honor instead. "Love, this is not the same. Look, the boy is a Lancastrian, by any standards if the Lancastrians were to suddenly drop dead, who do you think the Lancasters would rally next to?" Edmund pointed his gaze to her great grandmother.

"But she's married to a knight, a simple knight, not a great man." Mary argued.

"Her nephew in law dear is a great man, he is the Duke of Buckingham and he styles himself a royal heir."

"But he's not and he's married to the queen's sister."

"But he doesn't love her and it is well known the feelings is mutual. He resents her for the control she has over his lands and how much the queen favors her. He has royal blood flowing through his veins and he does descend from all Edward. To him, it should be him who rules both inside and outside his house. Imagine if that pitiful creature, Margaret Stafford, starts whispering dangerous thoughts in his ear and convinces him to join her son's band? Frightening is it not?"

Mary drank from her cup, feeling a sudden dread knowing that was exactly what happened. But she couldn't tell him. She just stared down at the poor woman and gave her a sympathetic smile.

She was not her enemy, she was just plain Lady Margaret Stafford, a mother, alone, desperate for companionship as she had once been. Mary felt obligated to help her.

_Aye but your husband is right_ –her head told her and Mary ignored it but it continued to whisper as the day dragged on. _Remember your family _Your Grace–it said with a mocking tone. _When no one helped you and you were just a bastard daughter. Did any of the Tudors helped you then? Did any of your father's men flocked to you under your standard? No. It was the English people who flocked to your standard and it was through them you got you crown, or did you suddenly forget? Do you think the poor widow will thank you for your help? What have the Tudors ever done for you?_

Nothing. Mary thought.

_Nothing_, it agreed. _They abandoned you. To them you were just a half-breed Tudor, a Spanish Tudor. You were never good enough for them. You were never good enough for your father. Why help the Tudor widow? You know she will betray you, just like your father did, just like everyone else in your family._

Mary blinked the tears away as she was hit by the sudden realization. She tore her eyes away from the widow and looked at her husband, giving him a gracious smile. "You are right, I am sorry I doubted you."

"All is well. You have a good heart Mary, I admire that in you love but just remember, sometimes the good you do doesn't do you any good."

Mary nodded, not yet convinced. Poor widow, she thought. She was her great grandmother, the matriarch of the Tudor dynasty. It seemed unfair that she had to come all this way to plead under the Yorkist king for her lands and her son's custody.

* * *

The lady Stafford did not need the younger woman's sympathy. She was nothing compared to her. Through her veins flowed the blood of many kings and nobles while she was nothing but a dirty urchin, a dirty nymph. _A witch_ –she thought. Just like the York queen.

Her husband convinced her to come to court because he said the king was a man of honor, a man who would listen to her pleas. She wanted to snort, to laugh at him, and tell him how wrong he was, but when she saw the king, her views changed.

Their new king was handsome and he did have a handsome queen. In fact, all of the York boys were handsome and their wives in the case of the older two, were handsome as well, producing a litter of healthy –and handsome- offspring. But such vanity did not impress Margaret nor did it alter her views of who should be sitting in the throne.

She, with her husband, presented her case to the king. He ruled in her favor. His brother, the Duke of Rutland was also there with his wife. Why they'd let that dirty urchin there, she had no idea. But the creature, being as naïve as she was, convinced the king, her brother in law, of giving Margaret her son back.

Margaret thanked the Duchess and her husband, and afterwards bowed to the king and kissed his jeweled hand. It took a great amount of self-control not to spit in his face and tell him what he thought of him, his family, and his wife's family who turned their coats for their daughter.

She and her husband returned to their manor where they sent a messenger to lord Herbert to inform him of His Grace's decision and to tell him -no, Margaret corrected herself, order him- to bring Henry to them_. To think_, Margaret thought_, that my son will be returned to me. And he will begin to see things the way I want him to see them. _It brought great joy to her heart.

She could not wait.

But while Margaret counted the days for her son's return, Warwick was counting the days for his own king's overthrow.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks to Vader's mistress for that Reign trailer on the forums, now I can't think of Edmund as anyone other than Torrance Combs!**

**Sources listed in previous chapters. Review!**

* * *

1469

"Two days."

"Two days for what?" Mary asked her. She wasn't keen leaving her daughters in the Duchess Dowager's care but strangely, the Duchess had fallen in love for her eldest granddaughters, especially Lizzy and the two Cecilys.

"Two days and we will be back in Placentia. Do not worry my friend, nothing bad will happen to them. The Duchess will take good care of them." On cue the Duchess Dowager smiled and nodded. Mary found this very suspicious but said nothing.

She knelt in front of her oldest daughter Cecily and said, taking both her shoulders, in the same soft tone her mother had used when she told her she would be sent to Wales to her own household. "Be safe and be obedient. It doesn't matter what you hear, what they say about me. You are a lady in your own right."

"I am not." Lady Cecily said, every righteous, ever proper. "My lady grandmother is, not I."

"You are and that is all that matters. You understand?" She said and she spoke with a tone that told Cecily the conversation was over.

"You will see her again." Mary told her sister in law, queen Elizabeth. She was just as nervous as Mary in leaving her eldest daughters with their grandmother. Duchess Cecily had not yet warmed to them and rumors were beginning to spread that Edward was not the real king since his mother had an affair with an English archer while she was in France and her husband was fighting for their rights in England.

It was a rumor but people these days believed everything and the courtiers were even worse. Mary found the English court at this time worse.

People began spreading foul gossip about her too, that she was the Duke's bastard daughter and Edmund's half-sister and therefore her union with the Duke of Rutland was null and void and her children bastards and no better than abominations.

The dirt nymph –Mary smirked. She had passed from dirty nymph to incestuous bitch.

"Mother." The Duke of Gloucester greeted once Mary and the queen had gone. He could not bear the sight of any one of them. One was a woman who belonged to the most ambitious family in England and the other, who knew what she was but one thing Richard was sure of. Both were destroying everything his father and Edward had worked so hard to build.

"What do you think of them?" His mother asked him. She asked her three granddaughters t come forward. The second oldest of them, the first Cecily, Mary's oldest daughter stepped forward, holding her chin out proudly, she was in the middle of her royal cousins but that didn't matter. She stood a head taller than any of them.

These grandchildren of hers might be those women's daughters but they were York daughters and Cecily could already tell she would prefer them above the rest.

"I think the queen and the Duchess of Rutland are jealous."

The Duchess Dowager let out a snort. "Jealous of whom? Me? You are serious my son. How naïve you are indeed. The queen has everything and that dirty nymph, you've seen how she looks at us. She thinks herself better than us. At least the queen you know through her witch mother she has some noble blood, that does give her some right, but her?" She sneeredd. "She is nothing but a commoner, a dirty urchin."

"A dirty urchin who's given what the queen has not, a son."

"Aye, and that makes her more dangerous." The Duchess Dowager Cecily said. She crooked her finger and asked the middle granddaughter to come. "What do you think?"

"Mother I don't think –"

His mother held a hand up to silence him. "What do you think my grandchild? Should your lady mother be allowed such power?"

"No." The younger Cecily answered, her face not giving anything away. "I don't believe she should my lady." She said adding further confirmation to her earlier statement with a smile that almost convinced he Duchess, almost.

"Ah, you see a true daughter of York, unlike her mother. Go back in line child and go pray, make sure your cousins follow your lead. I can see great things in you. It's a shame though, that you have a mother like yours." The Duchess Dowager told her and as she'd foretold, her cousins followed her ever lead. It would seem to them she was the Princess and future queen.

"That was very cruel of you mother." Richard said.

"Your brothers married below them. Your second brother especially made the gravest mistake of all, if your brother failed us, we still had him to marry to Bonna of Savoy but he chose love instead of duty."

"Can you fault him for that, mother? Did you and father no marry for love?"

"Your father and I married for duty, my marriage brought him a thousand swords and Neville loyalty, now thanks to both of your brothers' wives, we have lost those as well." The Duchess Dowager told him, she placed both hands on her lap. Out of all her sons, Richard was the calmer one. Edward and Edmund were often led by their passions and George was led by that sense of adventure and ambition that Cecily often feared. Sometimes she wished Richard was her firstborn. Things would be simpler with him as king.

"Someday I plan to marry for love as well as for an alliance. I know you and father loved each other, everyone knows that." The accusation in his words was clear.

"Love came after I promised your father victory and my family's loyalty." The Duchess Dowager said firmly. "Love is irrelevant to people like us. We are nobility and now the first family in England, we must keep that position and for that we need alliances, strong alliances. Love comes secondary."

"You don't believe that." Richard said, unable to think this was the woman who cried a thousand tears when she'd been told of her husband's death.

"It doesn't matter what I believe, what matters is who sits on the throne."

"And so you've chosen George to be your king?" Richard said crossly. "The queen is bound to know."

"Let her find out, if I know her kind she already has. Why else do you think she gives us her eldest daughters as hostages?"

"Is that what they are?"

"You clearly do not know how politics work my son, that's why you've never made a good courtier. You must learn how to lie with a smile. The queen knows that I have been plotting with your cousin. She has many daughters to spare and that dirty nymph does too."

"That makes it worse then. What if George does become king, what will happen to them?"

"They will be acknowledged as daughters of York but nothing else. You should be happy, you never liked any of them."

"No, but I love my brothers and as long as you support his claim I cannot support you, I am sorry." He said bowing and leaving the room.

He expected his mother would tell him something to prevent him from leaving but she said nothing. Her son had made his decision and so had she. George would be placed on the throne of England and his wife, a woman of her father's house would restore York and England to its former glory. The evil queen would be deposed and Mary would be cast out into the streets where she belonged. It was time she like the queen, learned her true place in this world. She and the queen had upset the natural order of things.

The Duchess Dowager smiled as she looked from her window outside to where her granddaughters played. All of them danced to their cousin's tune and followed her everywhere. It was a pity, thought Cecily that her mother was not highborn and she was not born a boy, or else it would be her Cecily Neville would have backed up instead of her younger son George.

* * *

Isabel and George's wedding was celebrated with great pomp. Anne smiled shyly at George but he barely looked at her. He cared for the pretty one, the pretty wife, the one who'd gained him the alliance he wanted to depose his brother and install him as king.

Anne was jealous, she knew it was wrong to feel so, but she couldn't help it. Isabel had always been the pretty one, the fair one, the one with the pretty smile, the talented one. Now she was also their father's favorite and future queen of England.

Anne asked her mother why couldn't the bend the knee like everyone else to the king of England and his new queen. Her mother answered with a voice full of spite, a sign that not only she hated the queen and her family for usurping their position as first family in England, but like her father, that their influence with the king was waning.

"The king did what he should have never have done. He wed another house and a commoner at that and his brother no better. Your brother in law wed a dirty urchin, a commoner whose brought us nothing but destruction."

"How so, mother? That's what you choose to see, but other people like her. They say she is humble and even the former Lancastrians have said so, she's shown them mercy whereas the queen has not."

"That's because the Duchess of Rutland is a commoner and she's naïve, she doesn't know how to act. What more can you expect?" She probably didn't know they were fighting a war unless the told her, lady Warwick thought.

Richard Neville sat next to them, ending their conversation and told them the bedding ceremony was about to start.

"Poor Isabel, she must be frightened." Anne mumbled. Her father heard her and snorted, grinning at his youngest daughter's naivety.

"It's what every bride must go through, it's what you will go through someday, now stop brooding and put on a smile, this is your sister's day, she does not need you worrying over her. This marks the first of many glorious days for us." Her father said and Anne said no more, lowering her head.

Isabel was disrobed and wore only a chemise, her husband came minutes after wearing only a chemise as well. Anne gave her sister a sympathetic smile but Isabel did not need it. Tomorrow she would emerge from the bedroom a queen. Her father had promised her so. That was the sole reason why they had left England and crossed the narrow sea, so they could gain recruits for another invasion that would place Isabel and her husband in the throne of England and get rid of the queen, the Duchess of Rutland, and the Woodvilles once and for all.

Everyone would flock to them. After all, Isabel's husband was the rightful king, her father said so, what could go wrong?


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Keep reviewing.**

**A/N: I changed the date of Edward V birth, he is born a year before.**

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1469

Her son, Edmund paid his obeisance to his parents then ran up to meet him, his arms spread wide, he wrapped them around his mother's gown.

She was small in comparison to his aunts and sister, but that was of little consequence. To his father she was the greatest women in England –in spite of her common ancestry.

Edmund expressed how lonely it was at Placentia. "I want to stay here with you forever and ever." He said waiting to be held. In response, Mary and her husband chuckled and she scooped him up and cradled him.

Edmund felt asleep as she sang to him. "I wish he could be this little forever." Said the older Edmund, kissing his son's forehead. His only son, he thought.

He worried constantly about the boy's attachment and his health. He was healthy but that could change. Mary told him not to worry as she put him to sleep. She, like the queen, did not like others taking care of her children. She supervised all of their education and even read to them before they went to sleep. Edmund, particularly, was very dependent on her.

Her older daughters, Cecily and Catherine, were the Duchess Dowager's, true Yorkist daughters, independent and with no need for others to watch over them, but Edmund and her youngest daughter, Mary, were hers.

"Edmund."

"Mmm?" He asked. His eyes were closed and his hands were on her belly, hoping that her womb would quicken and she'd be with child again.

Edward had been very angry when he found out about their cousin's betrayal, but what hurt his brother the most was that one of their own, their own brother George, had been part of Neville's conspiracy and gone as far as to declare himself George the first, king of England.

It not only upset Edward but hi brothers as well but as usual, Edward was blind to anyone's feelings but his own. Edmund did not want to believe that the brother he played with, taught to fence when he was a boy could be capable of such betrayal, and worse, his own mother had played a part on it spreading lies about Edward and his wife. Calling his union with Mary incestuous, staining his father's name and accusing him of being a lecher and begetting a child out of Mary's mother, Catherine Hill, and therefore –she argued- Mary was a York bastard and his sister and so his union with her was null and a sin before god and their children bastards. What she said about Edward was no better.  
He was the son of an archer –she said. An English archer who raped her or –as some versions went- seduced her with black magic and so her son Edward was nothing more than an English bastard and not the rightful king of England. And since Edmund was married to the incestuous whore than that left the throne to George Plantagenet and the noble house of Neville was there to back him up.

Edmund's heart split in two when he heard. On their way to London Mary and the queen had been screamed at, chased after, and accused of seducing the older sons of York through witchcraft.

Elizabeth was used to it. She told Edmund, that her mother had been a victim of such foul gossip before, after her first husband, the Duke of Bedford had died and she had married her husband's soldier, Sir Richard Woodville. But it was different for his wife, she was a gentle soul with not a malicious bone in her body.

She ran to Westminster and ordered her son be brought to Placentia where he with the other royal children were placed in protective custody. She was too afraid of the people, she was afraid they would do something to hurt her or the children. She knew Elizabeth's oldest daughters and her oldest daughter Cecily were safe with the Duchess Dowager, but her other children were a different story. Elizabeth was pregnant, this time she prayed it would be a son. Mary knew it would be, this would be one of the infamous princes in the tower and Mary couldn't help but be saddened by this upcoming event. To be blessed with joy and then have it stolen ... It was not fair.

Edward assured them he would fight for his right to wear the crown of the Confessor. Richard swore he would fight alongside his brother. He did not like any of his brother's wives but he was loyal to his brothers and he was loyal to the house of York, and he more than anyone understood the words family, duty, and honor. He would not forsake any of those vows for family ambition.

Mary's voice made him come from his thoughts as she whispered in a seductive voice in his ear, "I am not yet tired."

"I am. You saw Edward today, every time the names George and Warwick were mentioned, I swear the table rose seven inches. If I did not know better I'd say this is a lover's quarrel."

Mary laughed with him. "But you are going to defeat him am I right?"

Edmund smiled. "Of course, why should we fail? We have the people at our side and with Richard at our side we are still the three invincible suns of York."

"And soon you will be six."

"Yes, it would not surprise me if the queen is expecting this time and they both turn out to be boys."

"No, what I mean is," she guided his hand to her stomach, "you will have another son, another York baby."

Edmund opened his eyes and stared at his wife. "Since when?"

"Since we left our daughter at your mother's house. I had my suspicions. I missed my courses this month and I have been attacked by morning nausea ever since."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"I did not want to inconvenience you. You and Edward have a word to fight and I had to be sure." Mary told him. She had been so nervous when she found out, she told her great great grandmother of her suspicions and she closed her eyes and placed her hand on her great great granddaughter's midsection and when she opened her eyes she smiled and confirmed her suspicions. She didn't tell Edmund this though, she just said that she called the royal physician and he confirmed that she was indeed with child.

"Lord, Mary, you have made me the happiest man on earth." He cried and kissed her lips.

He pulled away and lowered his gaze at her midsection. They had a son. Another son for the house of York –he thought. Another reason for him to fight ferociously.

He was not going to let anyone or anything steal his happiness. He kissed Mary more hungrily and that night, made love to her a second time before he, Richard, and their king rode to battle.

* * *

The battle took places in Danes Moor in Northamptonshire, at a crossing of a tributary of the River Cherwell. The battle pitted the forces of Richard Neville, their cousin, the Earl of Warwick, and his self-proclaimed king, George Plantagenet, the first of his name, against those of Edward and his brother.

The battle would be a turning point in the ongoing war between the houses of Lancaster and York. Especially since this war was fought amongst York brothers.

Margaret saw this as a sign from god. She had seen His sign ever since the dirty nymph had convinced the king to return her son to her. She had seen it in the form of a dream, a woman dressed in black, red curls and dark grey eyes and all around her ice that melted into blood. She knew since she met the Duchess of Rutland that she was that woman, that angel of death. Her presence would bring them victory.

No one wanted the Yorks. Since the king had married his commoner wife, Elizabeth Woodville and had fallen prey to her family's ambitions, advancing one after the other and forcing the noble houses into marriage with them; England had begun to rebel against their young king and flock to his enemies.

All those men that thought that this sun king would be their salvation were finally seeing the light. God would restore the house of Lancaster once the York brother, with the help of Lancasters, finished each other off.

Margaret prayed for her brother-in-law and the queen and her son, England's rightful heir and Prince of Wales and not that bastard waiting in Elizabeth Woodville's belly. She prayed that they would be restored to their rightful place and England would be under Lancaster rule once again.

She was disappointed however, when she heard from her husband that all of the brothers had survived.

"Your prayers were mildly answered." Sir Henry Stafford said, knowing what his wife really wanted to know.

"How so?" Margaret's head perked up, her eyes suddenly focused on her husband. "Is Edward captured?"

"Aye." Said her husband gravely, "I am afraid so."

"Afraid? This is the perfect opportunity for Lancastrian forces to march on England. With the narrow sea between us, there will be no more barriers after we cross and finish the Yorks once and for all"

"I am not sure your family can do that."

"The Lancasters won the throne once."

"Yes through a rebellion, this is different though. The people favor York, it doesn't matter which brother is on the throne, they will not stand for another Lancaster. I am sorry Margaret but your cause is lost, has been lost since Edward was crowned at Westminster."

"No!" It cannot be. It would not be, she cried vehemently then felt her sleeve being tugged and she looked next to her at her son Henry who, despite the tender age of twelve, stood a head taller than Margaret, and was taller than most boys his age. "What is it?" She asked, her voice turning soft as it usually turned whenever she spoke to her son.

"Is it true? King Edward has been captured by Warwick's forces?"

"Yes, my son, he has and very soon all of the Yorks will be put to the sword. It is god's will."

"Margaret," her husband said, his voice full of caution, "I am not sure you should let the child hear these discussions."

"Why? He is two and ten, the right age. Very soon he will be called to arms as will you my lord husband." Margaret said, reminding him of where his loyalties ought to lie.

Henry sighed and said nothing more, leaving mother and child alone. Margaret was filling his mind with nonsense. Henry Tudor was nobody, he was a mere earl and he would die with nothing more than a piece of land and a minor nobleman's daughter as his wife. He would never hold an important position. The Lancaster sun had set and the suns of York shone brighter than ever.

Margaret ought to know that, but his wife was a difficult woman. She wanted to believe in the impossible and Henry should have put a stop to that but he didn't because part of him admired Margaret for her perseverance.

* * *

King Edward was captured by Warwick's forces. He and Edmund were Richard of Warwick's captives.

Mary and Elizabeth with their immediate family sought sanctuary. Jacquetta Woodville helped Elizabeth deliver her child, her firstborn son. His birth should have been a joyous occasion but there was nothing joyous about this event. Her son had come at a high price. On the day of his birth she received news that her father had been put to the sword, his head cut off and put on display as a warning to everyone who went against Warwick's forces.

Mary comforted her great grandmother, but nothing she could say could make things better. Her brother, Anthony Woodville was there with them.

Mary thought she heard of singing when she went to sleep the following night after the Prince's birth. Jacquetta Woodville had told her to listen, to write what she heard, what she dreamed of when these visions came. She did but so far she couldn't figure them out yet.

_The child –_She heard whispered in her ear. She woke up with a jolt feeling a hot stabbing pain in her midsection.

"It's not time." She said to herself, she opened her mouth but no sound came. Then feeling her thighs wet, she gave a loud howl.

Jacquetta and Elizabeth with the now head of the Rivers family, ran to her chambers and their faces paled at what they saw.

Mary's nightgown was covered in blood, the bed sheets were stained with her blood as well. Mary screamed repeatedly, voicing her denial. No, no, no, no, no …

This could not be happening.

God, please …

"No!"

The physicians came and took her son away. A son, just as she had promised. A beautiful baby boy with all his toes and fingers, fair-skinned and reddish brown hair, not like hers, but Edmund's color. Another Edmund, she thought when she saw him, before they took him away and told her he was born dead.

"My baby." She sobbed, crying in Jacquetta's arms. "My baby. He was perfect. I failed, I failed just as my mother failed."

"You brought your husband what any man in his position desires, what any man truly needs – a son and he is healthy. No child is sweeter and healthier. How can that be considered failure?"

"You do not understand. My mother gave my father a healthy child and before he died they celebrated his birth, for an entire month the bells of Westminster rang for their golden prince and then one day they stopped. He had died and after that everything went downhill. My mother kept bringing my father nothing but dead babies. My father moved heaven and earth to divorce her, to get a son and marry his mistresses so that would make their children legitimate. He disowned me so I would not be an obstacle for his son."

"Mary, you have given the king's brother a son. No mean feat. If you had not, my daughter's position would have been weaker, more people would have flocked to Warwick because Elizabeth would have had nothing but daughters but giving York a son, you secured our position. I know this is hard and you fear what happened to your mother will happen to you but history will not repeat itself. Your first husband was a fool and so was your father for abandoning your mother, you have learned from their mistakes, you have experience to back you up. Let that guide you, do not let your enemies see you like this. You are not weak. You are my descendant, Melusine's chosen, this is just another obstacle you will have to overcome."

"How can I? I am tired of fighting, I am tired of everything! Why can't I be happy?"

Was it too much to ask? She only wanted what others had. It would be far simpler to be what everyone said she was, a commoner with a commoner's life. She would not have to put up with intrigue and backstabbing of the court.

"Happiness is a luxury we cannot have, it comes at a high price. All that matters is that our family's safety, it is all that matters. Edward and Edmund need to be strong, for that you and the queen have to show yourselves as strong. If the people see you being weak, they will think you unworthy of their positions and they will withdraw their support from Edward. Our future depends on you, you must stay strong."

"But I-"

"You are the Duchess of Rutland, you are the daughter of kings, descendent of Melusine, you have known loss and you will know more loss but you stay strong!" Jacquetta hissed. She knew the girl possessed a great strength but like her daughter, she was afraid to use it.

"Now is the time to show your strength, unleash your courage and face the mob of peasants. Warwick won't hold Edward and Edmund for long. When the time comes, we will strike and we will come triumphant." Jacquetta said lastly and her conviction erased all self-doubt from Mary's mind.

* * *

It didn't take long for their prayers to be answered.

The king and his brother, the Duke of Rutland, escaped from their confinement in Middleham Castle in Yorkshire. The Woodvilles with the aid of Richard had rallied a force larger than what Warwick had expected and released their king and his brother from his prison.

The country was in turmoil, Richard Neville could have declared his cousin a bastard and solve this problem once and for all and have George installed as the one and true king, yet, people clamored to Edward and Edmund and no one believed whole heartedly in the earl's lies. And then they found it despicable that the king's own mother had gone to such lengths to spread these rumors about her son and her second son's wife just to have her house elevated to the first family in England.

And then there were rumors of small uprisings in favor of restoring the Lancaster house, such as the a small band of minor nobles in Nibley Green. Nobles who had supported Warwick deserted him and fewer nobles in southern England were prepared to support Warwick's seizure of power.

After freeing the king and the Duke of Rutland, they were escorted to London by Warwick's brother George, the Archbishop of York, where they and Warwick were reconciled, to outward appearances.

With this event, it discouraged Lancaster uprisings and made it easier for Edward to crush them.

Yet not everything was a victory. Upon their return they were greeted with sad news. Edmund who expected to find a very pregnant Mary, found nothing but sadness. She told him of her miscarriage. It had been too soon, a boy, she whispered, a beautiful boy, well formed and handsome like his father. A true York.

Edmund nearly collapsed when he heard.

_My son_ –he thought.

_I would have had a son. _

Had it not been for his cousin and George's uprising, he would have come home to a happy wife, still carrying their unborn child.

_A son._

Edmund steeled himself and told her they would have more. "But you wanted this baby."

"I wanted the both of you but god called him to His heaven. We must rejoice." Edmund said, finding a hard time believing his words but Mary did. For the sake of their marriage and their children, she did and let herself be embraced by him.

"I am so sorry."

"No, do not be. He is with god now. God will take care of him now, we must look after our live children, they need us now more than ever."

Mary nodded. She had not told her younger children she had been with child, naïve as they were, they thought she was getting plumper with all the food they were feeding her during their sanctuary. Even young Edmund believed it.

* * *

The Duchess Dowager released their daughters. Elizabeth and the two Cecilys returned to their mothers. Cecily embraced her mother and expressed her sorrow. Mary looked puzzled at her. How could she know?

Cecily shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know," she answered. "I had a dream. I am really sorry for my brother, mama."

"Do not be sorry, mummy is strong, she will give you more brothers and sisters."

Cecily said nothing and wrapped her arms around her mother's now empty stomach.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Sources listed in previous chapter.**

* * *

1469-1470

It was dark. Mary found a group of men dancing by the fire, she was amused by the sight. The dancers were Edward's men and they were singing, their steps high because they were dancing across the severed heads of their enemies. Mary was about to ask Edward, horrified at seeing the heads of his wife's family, what was the meaning of this, but when his head turned he changed into an image she knew all too well.

Mary woke with a jolt, startled by the revelation. What did it mean? She had helped Margaret Beaufort, returned her son to her, she thought that would end any bad feud there was between her and the Yorks. But she had been wrong and only now did she realize the gravity of her actions.

* * *

"Is that you Ceci?" Edmund asked her giggling as his sister pretended not to hear him.

It had been ages, centuries in the little boy's mind, since he'd seen her. In reality it had only been weeks, but Edmund barely recognized her. He crouched and bowed to her as if she was queen of the land, lower than when he'd bowed to the true queen and her daughters.

"Of course it is, don't you recognize your sister?" Cecily asked back in a pleasant voice but behind that voice Edmund could sense dissatisfaction.

"No, I don't sis, but I am happy you are back with us." He wrapped his arms around Cecily who shrugged and pulled him away telling him not to be stupid.

Mary watched the siblings' reunion with tears on her face. Lady Rivers told her not to be weak but she could not help it, when her son barely recognized his sister and her daughter could barely stand his presence.

"Cecily," she said taking her hand "Remember when you hugged me after mama felt very bad for your brother's loss?" Cecily nodded. "Well mama wants you to show the same act of kindness to your brother. He missed you a lot and prayed for you daily."

"But we were in no danger. The Duchess Dowager treated us with respect and she gave us everything we wanted."

"I know that sweetheart but your brother does not. We spend time not knowing if your father or uncle would die under Warwick's forces. We were very scared."

"But there was no danger." Cecily insisted but she finally gave in.

"Thank you sweetheart, that means a lot to me." Her mother said when she hugged her brother.

Cecily only nodded, crossing her arms against her chest when Edmund came and kissed both her cheeks, screaming she would now be free to play games with him "Forever and ever"

_God help me_ –she thought.

* * *

He grimaced as he received the news of the losses. His wife, Elizabeth, was still distraught over the loss of her brother and her father. Their unlawful executions would not go unpunished, Edward promised her but what could he do? If he executed Warwick that would break the peace agreement and England could not afford that with so many enemies pointing swords in their direction.

He told Elizabeth his decision and needless to say, she wasn't to happy.

"He's doing this on purpose." Elizabeth told Mary. They watched their children, Elizabeth and the younger Cecily played. Elizabeth followed her cousin everywhere when her mother wasn't looking. She knew that her mother would not like it if it was her following Ceci's lead.

"I am sure there is a good reason for his actions. The earl is after all a powerful enemy, it's better to have him on our side and close where we can watch him."

"Mother has been teaching you." Elizabeth remarked filling her friend's cup. "I don't trust him." She said lastly filling her own and drinking from her cup.

"I do not either," Mary confessed, "but there is little that we can do. He is after all the _kingmaker" _She said, her voice dripped with venom as she said his title. "If he wants he can turn to anyone else and fill his head with dreams and fantasies that he can usurp your husband. The people besides were too eager to believe his lies." Mary said looking away, her voice holding a tint of scorn that Elizabeth didn't miss.

"Nobody believes them now."

"But many did and rumors don't go away easily. People have written songs about us, calling you the witch queen, the whore queen, and me" she smirked "the dirty nymph, the dirty witch. A dirty urchin who seduced the king's younger brother and took him away from his family." She looked back to Elizabeth. "Some say things about your family, but everyone knows that you descend from the French nobility, your line is noble and although mine, as I am sure your lady mother has told you, is nobler, it doesn't matter. Here I am just Mary Hill. The dirty urchin, the devil's seducer."

"Don't listen to those rumors. You think I have stood by with this smile on my face listening to what everyone whispers behind my back? I am aware of what everyone thinks but I don't listen to it. I hear but I don't listen," she repeated, then smiled at her great granddaughter. "You should do the same."

"I've tried so hard to put everything behind it but I am assaulted every night by the same recurring nightmare. I see faces in the flames, men dancing around them and there is this man, this towering figure who …"

"Who, what?" Elizabeth asked, knowing this was a serious matter. "What?" She asked again, her eyes showing true consternation as Mary hesitated.

Finally she did, "A tall man who takes a crown from a thorn bush and places it on his head then the gold in his crown melts and turns to pearls."

A funeral –Elizabeth thought. Pearls were used for royal funeral processions. That could only mean the death of a king and the coming of a new one. Her stomach lurched yet her heart beat fast because she could not help but think that after Edward died, god forbid, their son would follow him.

"What else?"

"I don't know … I have seen only flashes, nothing more." Mary said, shaking her head trying to remember the rest of her nightmare but there were bits and pieces that were still impossible for her to remember and when she did remember them, she would soon forget them.

"When you do, tell me. You know you can come to me with anything. My mother and I will always be here, now more so that Edward has made that unholy alliance with the earl of Warwick."

"I hope that man burns in hell." Mary said knowing that was what Elizabeth was thinking too. She would never forgive him for the death of her child. Her unborn child. He was a perfect baby, his five toes, fingers on each foot and hand and he had killed him. He and her brother in law's constant plotting had murdered her child!

Mary mustered a smile when the queen rose and went to her side, placing a hand on the young woman's shoulders. "We will be invincible. The sun of York will remain eternal, Warwick and the rest are weak and with George in the king's care and married to one of Warwick's useless daughters, he will no longer pose a threat to our rule."

Our rule –Mary thought grimly. Where had she heard that before? "I can't help but tremble when I hear those words my lady, so many men and women have gone to their early graves with assurances like those. As long as the earl lives we can never be in peace." Mary said knowing that was what the queen of York also thought.

Elizabeth nodded. Her next words echoed the Duchess' thoughts, making a vow of vengeance. "Edward will not let him hurt us, your husband has declared himself his sworn enemy, he and the Duke of Clarence know better now than to defy us. But should he, he will find all the power of the York house combined." Elizabeth declared and her voice left no doubt in Mary's mind that she would fulfill her promise if the earl dared to defy them again.

* * *

"Spend this time with me." Mary said, her gaze fixated on him. After all these years since her arrival, she could not help but be bewitched by his ocean green yes. She crooked her finger and he followed her into the bed. "I want you." She told him and he responded to her summons taking her shoulders and crushing her under his weight, he took her and planted his seed on her.

Mary woke up. Her forehead formed bubbles of cold sweat that trickled all the way down to her neck, and her face was a mixture of fear and desperation. The same dream, and she knew who it was but as always she was reluctant to tell Elizabeth. She didn't want to change history more than what she had already changed it, and part of her still clung to the belief that she could avert the greatest tragedy of all –the fall of the York house and the rise of the Tudor house.

She had been so sure of it. She rubbed her forehead and hugged herself, breaking free of her husband's grasp. She turned her naked back and walked towards the window. Tonight was a full moon, its silvery light was the only light in the room and it illuminated their bodies. She looked behind her shoulder at her husband.  
He was supposed to die but something had saved him. Whether it was god, Melusine or some other powerful entity, it had saved him –and her- for a reason. She was here for a reason. Lady Rivers said that nothing was coincidental, everything happened for a reason and Mary believed it now more than ever.

Her hand fell on her stomach. She could somehow feel her next offspring's presence. "Please live." She begged and dropped to her knees and joined both her hands in prayer, praying that the Lord would spare this child and let it be brought to term.

She loved all her children but this one was going to be special. She had seen him in her dreams, spoken to him while she was in sanctuary. Dreamed of how happy Edmund would be when he came back from his imprisonment to find that he not only had another son, but one that looked like him. A true son of York.

Mary ended her prayer and got back to the bed. She wrapped his arms around her, she needed to feel secure, and Edmund was the only person besides the lady Rivers who made her feel safe.

* * *

When further rebellions broke out in Lincolnshire and the rest of the country, Warwick saw another opportunity. For the sake of keeping up appearances, he helped his cousin suppress these rebellions at the Battle of Losecoat field. Yet his plans failed when the captured leaders declared that he and George had been behind every one of them.

They were declared traitors and were forced to flee and seek refuge in France where the earl seeing another opportunity, formed an alliance with Margaret of Anjou who was the star guest of Louis XI.

Neither Margaret or her son were keen for this alliance. Edward of Westminster distrusted Warwick and told his mother he would never marry any of his daughter. He liked the lady Isabel, she was pleasing to the eye but sadly she was married to George Plantagenet, brother of the Yorkist usurper and would-be usurper and showed no signs of leaving him.

His mother said that the union was final and she was doing this for him. Not one to argue, he agreed to marry the earl of Warwick's younger daughter, Anne.

In their chambers Isabel Plantagenet nee Neville looked crossly at Anne. "I was supposed to be queen not you. Now you get to be wife to the future king."

"It's not final." Anne attempted but Isabel saw no reason. Anne saw resentment and hurt in her sister's eyes. "Anything could happen, our father never stays friends with someone for long and he's not likely to wed me to the Lancastrian prince."

"Mother says he will. The marriage contract has been sealed. To think I was going to give you a place of honor in my household!" Cried Isabel. "I was going to tell George to marry her to whoever you wanted. I was going to give you everything Anne and now this."

"Izzy, I am sure this will come to nothing."

"Don't try to make me feel better. We all know once father sets his mind on something nothing can stop him and you will wed that she wolf's son."

The prospect made Anne shudder. Since she was young she and Isabel had been told Margaret of Anjou was a monster and her son was likely a bastard from one of her many lovers, and now she was going to wed that son and her father, true to his word, would place the crown on both their heads.

Isabel sobbed. "I gave papa what he wanted, I married George and I did it without complaint, I gave him a son, a son that was going to guarantee us victory had it not been for that witch's wind that stopped me and mama from reaching England!"

"Izzy calm yourself, you don't know if that's true. That's mama talking."

"Damn right it is. If you were not too busy tending to your needlework you would know that everything she says is true. She is the devil. The queen and her sister in law are devils and they keep giving birth to little witches and now both of them have sons." Isabel howled sitting down and sobbing louder. She blamed the death of her son on Elizabeth Woodville. Her father said that's what happens when you place the devil on the throne and Elizabeth was the devil.

She and the Duchess of Rutland had given birth to their firstborn sons without any trouble while Isabel was on a ship, on their way to England to provide her father with more armed forces when she suddenly went into labor and they were hit by a storm. A witch's wind, her mother called it. And it was. Her son was yanked from her belly and he was born with his legs crooked and his face deformed. Perhaps it was an act of mercy it died after it took its first breath, thought she.

The only comfort she got was that she was not the only one and that the queen's evil deed had not gone unpunished. God had punished her through her dearest friend, the Duchess of Rutland, who also gave birth to a dead baby. When Isabel heard, she smiled feeling this was the Lord's vengeance for what they'd done to her family.

"Izzy," Anne tried again, going to her sister and whispering soothingly in her ear, "I am sure that's not true. The queen and your sister in law might be a lot of things but evil casters they are not. What happened was unfortunate but it will all be better. Even if papa marries me to Edward of Lancaster, your husband will still be the most powerful man in England."

But Isabel shook her head and pushed her sister away. She looked at her, her eyes blazing with utter hatred for her sister. "We are not friends anymore Anne, we are enemies. You are my enemy and our lord father is my enemy too! As long as I live if you marry that man I swear I will never welcome you in my house." She declared and left the room.

Anne sighed. Why couldn't things be easier? She imagined she would be back in England, married to Richard as he promised she would be. Richard promised her that he would speak to his older brothers on their behalf and they would agree to their union. She wanted to tell her father but then the rebellions had been discovered and they had to flee to France.

It was not fair, she thought staring down at her feet. She loved Richard, she knew this since they met. She knew marriages were made for alliances and Isabel was the one supposed to be queen, but couldn't her father just bend the knee to those two women like everyone else? Nobody would criticize him. Everyone had done it. Richard had and he said he was glad to because he felt it was his duty to be loyal to his older brothers, no matter what.

What made her father so stubborn? What? She sighed. She would never get the answer.

She rose and held her chin up, never once looking back with regret. She was about to become a queen, and this was her lord father's wishes. She would abide by them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. Sources are listed in previous chapter, please review.**

**A/N: I'm co-authoring with Ladyjaxs999 a game of thrones crossover "Death by fire". If you're like the rest of us who still feels angry Robb died.**

* * *

1470-1471

Mary waved her maid aside. Her daughter was being irritable as usual. "Mother, I want to go back to grandmother Cecily, she is my namesake and she said she would agree to be godmother to the babe."

"I know sweeting but it's too soon for that. Your uncle will want queen Elizabeth to be the baby's godmother."

"But why does she have to be all my siblings' godmother? Why can't my grandmother be the baby's godmother, she is my grandmother and she is a Duchess."

"Because she is the queen, sweetheart!" Mary yelled, surprising everyone in the room.

Edmund went to his daughter and took her hand. "Sweeting why don't you go to bed? I promise your mother and I will be there to tuck you in."

"No, it's too early." But Edmund's look silenced her and she left, giving out a defeated sigh. Her siblings followed her.

Edmund looked at Mary. "What was that?" He asked her and then told her that was uncalled for his wife remained silent. "Cecily is just a little girl, she doesn't know right from wrong, she doesn't know there's a war raging on, in her mind her grandmother is right and we are wrong."

"Do not treat me like I am the witch of this story. Cecily is five years old, she can tell right from wrong but she chooses her grandmother over us, she always." Mary emphasized putting a hand on her forehead. Her pains were becoming greater and Cecily's comments were only making her experience worse. She didn't want the child in the room while she was carrying her unborn brother. It was a boy, Mary could fell it. She feared Cecily would try to do something to endanger her pregnancy as he had endangered her brother's life last week when she refused to give him his hand after he fell on the river Thame.

If it hadn't been for his uncle Edward, he might have drowned for good and the York house would have lost one of its potential tools in winning this war. For boys were the key –her great grandmother had told her and as long as there was an overabundance of boys the York house was safe and their power uncontested.

She prayed daily that this pregnancy resulted in another boy, a healthy living male heir.

She was ashamed thinking ill of her daughter but since she'd come from the Duchess' household she had nothing but bad things to say about her and her siblings. She and Elizabeth, the queen's eldest daughter were consider the greatest beauties in England after the queen and Mary, but with that knowledge came a great arrogance. Elizabeth was graceful and well-behaved and while her daughter was as well, there was a haughtiness aura surrounding her that couldn't be denied.

The only children that brought her comfort were the queen's younger children and her younger children as well, including young Edmund who tried very hard to get his twin sister to like him.

"She is only five Mary, she doesn't know right from wrong. She spend too long in my granddmother's house for her own good and none of it was our fault. It was the right thing to do at the time, you said it yourself, it could not be avoided. Do not hold her responsible for the way she's acting."

"Then who am I supposed to blame? Me? Your mother?"

"Mary-"

"She is my daughter, before she went there she was sweet and kind and now she can't stand the very sight of me. She mocks me every time I come, she tells her little friends that her mother was born on the wrong side of the blanket." Mary said. It was almost as if her daughter could see the truth behind the lies, as if she knew who she really was. "She says my father left my mother because she could not give him what he desired." A son. "She hates her siblings and you've seen how she is around young Edmund. She laughs at him, spreads rumors behind his back. I can't stand her." She hated herself for saying this but it was the truth.

However Edmund could see the conflict brewing in her inner being just by her looks alone. "You don't mean that. She is a child, all children act this disobedient at some point in their lives. I know you did, you said so yourself that you would boast to your father's neighbors that you never cried and that you were just as good as any boy."

It was true, but that was different. Mary had been a tool in a dynastic game of power. Cecily was nothing but a Duke's daughter and she would never wed anyone royal. The girl was simply arrogant.

"That was different. I was trying to prove myself to my father."

"So is Cecily. She is just a child. She knows we've been ignoring and face it, we have, she wants our attention and she will do great lengths to get it."

"Murdering her brother?"

"You know that's not true." He said seriously. "What happened to Edmund was an accident."

"Was it? Sometimes I don't know what version to believe. She says one thing but her actions tell another story." And she would rather believe her brother who was the complete opposite of Cecily, kind, sweet, and loving.

"I know it has been hard for you. I know these last two years haven't been easy but you must make it an effort for me and the children. They are here with us and they are here to stay. If you go to Cecily and explain why it is so important to have my brother the king and the queen as the baby's godparents she will understand."

"I am not sure she will. She contradicts everything I say. When her grandmother comes to visit she follows her everywhere."

"Naturally," Edmund said, oblivious of what his wife really meant. "She is her namesake and mother favors her strongly above the rest."

"To be like her."

He gave a long and heavy sigh and rubbed his temple. "Mary, I wish you would stop this, you are only stressing yourself and adding more stress on the baby."

"It's her fault. Tell her to respect me."

"I won't …" Her eyes pierced his. "I mean, I can't. I want to but I will not. I can't control what my daughter like and not, and I will not act that way to her just because she's scared. Can't you see she is only doing this to gain your attention? She's worried about you as we all are, she was very distraught when we brought her and she found out about the baby. She fears that this is a curse of god."

"Why would she think such a thing?" Mary demanded thinking the whole thing ridiculous.

"She heard what my mother said about you and the queen and no doubt she wanted her and her cousins to hear."

"And pray tell me, what rumor did your mother use to poison our daughter's mind?"

Edmund flinched at the scorn in Mary's voice but he quickly composed himself and said, "She told her that this was the Lord's doing."

"Really and why is that? Because her mother is a harlot and the devil's mistress."

"No, I am afraid it was worse than that." Edmund confessed. "She said that you and Elizabeth had greatly affronted god when you refused to make her the girls' godmothers and god would take his vengeance on both of you taking what you most loved."

"My son."

"Yes." Edmund admitted.

Mary brought her hand to her lips to hide her sobs. Damn her! And damn all these Nevilles and Warwick loyalists! They were nothing but opportunists, no different than the corrupt men surrounding her father's corrupt, no different than the men who had betrayed her and spread lies about her, including her own sister and … Philip.

Edmund placed his hands on her shoulders and knelt down, making eye contact with her. "When will it end? I am tired of the plotting, the wars. The queen has given Edward a son and I have given you a son and yet they still plot." She took down her hand and let out a powerful sob.

"The earl is a proud man. He won't give up easily, I am afraid I was wrong." Mary looked quizzically at him. "That day at the battlefield when Edward raised our standard and cried victory for the house of York, I told you that this will be the victory to end all wars and I promised you peace but I was wrong. There will never be peace as long as Warwick is alive."

Mary understood but she said "Then what? Warwick dies and another kingmaker comes along and it's the same old story. It's never going to end."

"It is Mary," Edmund said, fully convinced. "Once Warwick is dead I promise you it will end."

"How do you know? Edward has enemies everywhere, France is allied with the Lancasters and Warwick has both his daughters wed to both houses' heirs. If one of them fails he can just use the other one to rally up troops and rebel against Edward." It was that simple, the earl had calculated everything well and he seemed invincible now.

"You forget the people of England do not want a Lancastrian for their monarch. They've all heard of Margaret of Anjou's so called justice. As long as she lives, her cause lives with her and she inspires more fear than courage. No one in England will rise up for her."

"Jasper Tudor might. He pledged his sword to her."

"Jasper Tudor is irrelevant. He and lady Stafford think their house is in god's favor and as long as the queen's lives they will fight for her like a pack of wolves to see their rightful heir on the throne. Worry not Mary, as long as we live the York cause lives as well and as I said before, the sun of York will never set."

* * *

But it did set. The battle was lost. Lancastrian forces rallied against the Yorkist king forced him and his younger brothers to flee the country to Holland then seek refuge in Burgundy. At the last minute Warwick with the help of his brother and nephew had rallied troops from the south of England and marched unto London victorious.

He paraded Henry VI through the streets of London as the restored king.

Edward, Richard of Gloucester, and Edmund of Rutland wre proclaimed traitor and many Lancastrians exiles returned to England to reclaim their estates, among them Jasper Tudor whom Warwick's puppet king welcomed him in his newly restored court and gave him back his earldom.

While their husbands and brother in law were in exile, Mary and Elizabeth were forced to once again seek sanctuary in a monastery.

As Margaret returned from the newly restored Lancastrian court, as she and her husband were on the barge, to their way home, she couldn't help but look to her right and her eyes landed on that monastery, on one lit candle, it's light so dim but illuminating one of the windows. She watched fascinated as two shadows paced back and forth and she wondered what those two women were conversing about.

As Margaret thought about her own misery, she could not help but feel some pity for these poor women, especially the queen whom had risked it all, including the safety of a nation to wed her beloved. She wondered if after all those expensive parties, beautiful dresses, long hats that had always amazed and repulsed Margaret, she had finally grown humble. Perhaps this was a good thing.

Perhaps in the absence of vanity she would learn the true meaning of life and gain some humility.

* * *

Elizabeth had grown sick of waiting. The man had taken her brother and her younger brother John. Now he had taken her kingdom and her son's inheritance away. She was not going to stand for it any longer.

"My lord Warwick" she said, writing the earl's full name and his co conspirators' on a piece of paper as her mother had taught her "I curse you" then she folded the paper and threw it at the river with Mary next to her. She wanted to be witness to the fabled power of the water goddess, however the queen told her that Melusine does not come out easily. For hours they waited for the paper to submerge. It was as if time had stilled until at last it did and as Mary watched she sent with it her own curse. Not just the earl, her husband's younger brother George Plantagenet, but her family as well. The family that for many years she had been loyal to but it had never been loyal to her.

**I curse thee**, she whispered and Elizabeth heard her but she said nothing, thinking she meant the earl and the rest of the Neville family, but in reality Mary had cursed her own family. Her own flesh and blood, the family she now denied.

She cursed all of them, from Margaret to Henry Tudor, the future tyrant and man from her dreams.

* * *

Warwick's triumph was short lived. He'd become power hungry and rapacious. The last straw had been when he declared he would invade Burgundy and force the Duke to give up its refugees.

This only made it worse when he declared that Margaret of Anjou had the king of France's ear and he would either obey her or else risk England's wrath. The king of France, furious by the pompous earl's remark, agreed to help his guest's enemy, sending troops and money to buy ships and guns.

Edward landed with a small force at Ravenspur on the Yorkshire coast. Initially claiming to support Henry and to be seeking only to have his title of Duke of York restored, he soon gained the city of York and rallied several supporters. His brother Clarence turned traitor again, abandoning Warwick. Having outmanoeuvred Warwick and Montagu, Edward captured London. His army then met Warwick's at Barnet. The battle was fought in thick fog, and some of Warwick's men attacked each other by mistake.

The survivors claimed it was an act of witchcraft and upon hearing of Warwick's defeat, Margaret of Anjou, made a decision to invade England. Even when she knew her attempt would prove fruitless, she still tried. From her point of view if she didn't she and her son would be delivered to Edward and he would do with them as they pleased, paraded them through London, mock them or murder them in the Tower as she heard they were planning to do to her husband.

She was not going to go down without a fight and go down in history as a coward. If history would remember them it would be on this day as the warrior queen, as the queen who fought for her son's inheritance. If they lost, they lost, it didn't matter.

Better to be dead, die in battle than to be a prisoner of York.

She and her son and his Neville wife traveled by sea. On the day of their arrival, the day when Margaret had expected victory, she'd gotten none.

It was a sad day for the Lancastrians. It seemed their days were over and they were indeed when news reached their youngest heiress, Margaret Beaufort, that the queen's forces had been defeated at Tewkesbury and the prince had been slaughtered and his mother captured.

No one was safe now ... no one.

They were hunting Lancasters and Yorks eyes suddenly shifted to her son. Margaret decided in that instant that her son would not suffer the same fate as her counterpart's boy, the other Margaret. She would not go down in history as a second Margaret. She sent her son with his uncle Jasper and watched them as they rode away until they disappeared.

He was the only hope of the Lancasters. Their line had been wiped out except for Henry. As long as he lived, there was hope to see the red rose of Lancaster restored to its glory.

* * *

As foretold by Margaret of Anjou, her husband was put to the sword shortly after their son's death. With no heirs to succeed him the throne was rightfully Edward's but not wanting to risk anymore rebellions in the name of Lancaster, he murdered the mad king.

He was told he felt no pain and he was sleeping while his assassins barged into his room and thrust their swords into his thin body.

He was not given the full rites of a king because in truth he had never been one. His reign was always handled by someone else. Edward vowed he would never let that happen to him but as with every king, there were men hungry for power who wanted to take advantage of their young monarch. And why not? If he had been in Warwick's position, would he have not done the same? Edward was sure he would have but he was not Warwick and Warwick had lost and this was now Edward's time.

He was -for the first time- England's uncontested king. With all his enemies put to the sword his reign was now secure.

His brothers Edmund and Richard, and his lifelong companion, William Hastings were generously rewarded for their loyalty becoming governors of the north and the midlands respectively.

Edmund's wife did not enjoy her husband sharing power with Richard. She did not trust him yet and neither he her, but both agreed to get along for their brother's sake.

Richard visited his brothers' children, both of his brothers, constantly whenever he was in London. Prince Edward of Wales was being lodged at Ludlow and was under the stewardship of Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers since his father's passing.

Richard resented the growing influence of the Riverses on his brother, mainly Anthony Woodville, the queen's brother and head of her family, and her oldest son by her first marriage, Thomas Grey, Marquis of Dorset. But as long as his brother was under the influence of his queen and she kept producing more babies, Richard could say nothing so he had to settle for their growing influence.

The second woman he resented although sometimes he pitied her because he slowly came to realize how hard it was for her to adjust to this life, was his other brother's wife, Mary Hill. The Duchess of Rutland unlike the queen was a gentle creature and she had far more class than her higher counterpart yet she too distrusted him and guarded her children zealously from him, especially her oldest boy, young Edmund. After she had born her husband a second son named John Richard (the second name, a name Richard guessed had not been her first choice), she'd become incredibly protective of her children. Yet, that didn't stop her from wearing the finest gowns and accepting the queen's gifts and imitating her in wearing long headdresses that in his opinion often made her outshine the queen's own headdresses.

Richard wanted to assure her that he meant her and the children no harm. He could never figure out why she hated him so much but on the winter of '71 when he went to his states and by some miracle (that he suspected was because his brother Edmund had a hand in) that had convinced Mary to send her oldest three children to visit him, he received another unexpected visit.

"Anne." He said, surprised. The children behind him peered at the young widow.

His aunt said that she was a traitor because her father had been a traitor but young Edmund did not see it so. He waved at the young woman dressed in blue and showed her a bright smile that mirrored his uncle, which made her smile widen as she waved back at the little boy.

Richard ordered his servants to put the children to bed. He returned his gaze to her, "What are you doing here?"

"I could be asking you the same thing. You told me you would never have your sister in law's children in your house."

He smiled sheepishly. "I've never been good at keeping my promises and I couldn't shun them away. Since the battle I've come to see things in a new light and you've seen my brother's son, it's impossible not to fall in love with him."

"I suppose so. Richard I ..." She paused walking to his solar, she took off her cloak and sat down and raised her eyes at him. "I have been thinking about what you said, about your offer."

Richard sat next to her and gave her a timid smile. "And?" He said a little too eagerly. "What's your answer?"

She returned his shy smile. "The answer is yes."


	13. Chapter 13

**I just saw the new White Queen trailer and let me say it looks good! Here is more enjoy and thanks to everyone who's reviewed. Also check out the story I'm co-authoring with Ladyjaxs999 _Death by fire_. It's a Got crossover, if you like war of the roses you'll like our crossover with Game of thrones which is after all based on the war of the roses. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

1472-1473

Jacquetta was getting old. She could sense the end was coming. She told Mary and her daughter one Sunday morning. "When?" They asked.

"It will not be long." Was all she said before she went to her chambers to rest, she was old and tired and she had lost so many in this war between the white and red rose.

Mary and Elizabeth were left puzzled, Mary had known it was coming yet she refused to accept it. The old countess had become a second mother to her after she lost her own mother and lady Salisbury to her father.

Without Jacquetta Mary felt powerless and Elizabeth more. The Rivers matriarch had been the bastion of the Woodville family, without her everyone felt powerless against the forces of darkness.

Mary's dreams increased, they were not dreams anymore but nightmares, visions of what was to come and worse, she realized every time she woke, she was powerless to stop it.

* * *

Mother Jacquetta -as Mary had gotten used to call her- died on the 30 of May. She was laid to rest next to her husband, Richard Woodville, lord Rivers. Their son John Woodville, who like his father, had been executed during Warwick's first rebellion was laid next to them.

It was how their children wanted it. Their family was numerous. For every Woodville you killed –the song went- another was born. Indeed, Mary knew this very well for everywhere she turned she saw a blond headed girl or boy looking in her direction.

They considered her family, yet without Jacquetta she didn't feel she formed part of their circle any longer.

Before she'd gone however she'd given a warning to Elizabeth and Mary, the warning she gave them was the same one she'd seen in her visions. The man with the dragon banner, the man whose head was drenched in blood with a crown taken from a thorn bush. _He_ –Jacquetta had said- was the man that would _doom them all_.

* * *

The following year Mary gave birth to another child. A girl.

"Mary," Edmund presented her with their newborn daughter. She'd lost consciousness after the birth of their child. She had given birth to twins. One of them had died. But she didn't need to know that.

He thrust his daughter in her expecting arms and Mary looked down at the tiny bundle. "Hello," she said, "I am your mama." Her voice made the little head perk up and lock gazes with the beautiful woman whose eyes resembled her own.

"Hello." She repeated and this time she got a stronger response. The baby wailed and raised her arms expectantly, wanting to touch her mama's face.

Mary granted her her wish and Edmund watched fascinated as mother and daughter bonded.

He sighed, it was much needed after she and Cecily had become estranged. Neither could see the other without saying something hurtful.

Mary kissed her nose and sang her a lullaby. Afterwards she gave her to her wet-nurse to feed and turned her head to Edmund. "What shall we call her?"

"I was hoping you had something in mind."

"No, I have named all of our daughters, it's time you name one of our own."

"In that case then, I name her Angelique."

Mary blinked. "But that's a French name." She said. But he didn't care. He wanted to name his daughter after the little miracle he considered her she was.

Seeing that she would not win, Mar nodded her head and agreed with his choice of name.

"Angelique then," She said with a big smile. "How she will make every girl jealous with every boy chasing after her."

"Not if I have something to say about it." Edmund warned.

Mary laughed. "Edmund!" She playfully slapped his back as he got on the bed. "I never took you for a jealous father!"

"I have to protect my young. And I am serious, I catch any boy eying my daughter, they will have to deal with me." He pointed his finger at his chest. Mary laughed harder.

"Then you will make enemies out of every Englishman!" She said hitting his back again but this time he caught her hand in mid-air.

"I am serious love." He said, his tone as he claimed, very serious but his eyes were filled with mischief.

"Nobody eyes my little girl."

"She is my daughter too and someday your brother will wed her to a great House or elsewhere to France, Germany, Italy, or one of the kingdoms in Spain."

"Until that day comes and I hope it never does, she will remain under my protection and no boy looks at her funnily."

She laughed and he laughed with her. He approached her lips and kissed her. "You've made me very happy today."

"You always say that after every birth."

"But today you made me even happier. Angelique is every bit like you. Strong, determined." Mary began laughing, "I am serious, she would not stop crying until you woke up and even then you saw how she threw that tantrum if you didn't bring her close to your face."

"A true York." Mary remarked.

"Aye. Just like her brother." Edmund told her. If they were not three years apart, they could have easily passed as twins. John Richard and Angelique mirrored each other, not only in looks but in attitudes as well.

"And her father." She added deepening their kiss.

* * *

Lady Angelique Elizabeth Plantagenet was christened three days after her birth. Mary was churched weeks after, during that period she wrote poems and paid her singers to write songs about her daughter's beauty. Unlike the rest of her daughters, Angelique was beautiful in every sense of the word. From the inside out. Mary favored her above all her daughters and of course her sons, having inherited their mother's good nature, had fallen for their sister's beauty.

"I get to take her."

"No, me!"

Young Edmund and John Richard fought over who would hold their sister.

"Stop it you two, nobody will hold Angelique but her godmother, the queen Elizabeth." Mary said and put an end to their squabbling.

They continued though after they'd gone from mass.

Ceci and her sisters, Mary and Catherine, did not join them for dinner, claiming they would rather dine with the Duchess Dowager who was present at the palace –where she could be under Edward IV's watchful eye.

She loved Cecily. Mary didn't know exactly why. Perhaps it was because she was named after her or perhaps it was because like her youngest brothers she had little of Mary in her, the dirty urchin. Whatever it was, Cecily Neville loved the girl and had taken her under her wing.

* * *

Richard surprised them one morning when he asked Mary and Elizabeth Woodville to be godmothers to his firstborn son by Anne; named Edward after his brother.

They accepted, not wanting anymore bad blood between them and Elizabeth had always liked Richard even if Richard did not like her.

He and Anne Neville had married on July 12 of 1472, a year later their son was born.

It seemed –some people started to say –that Neville girls prove to be more fertile. Anne had given Richard his firstborn son, a son first to secure their marriage. Her sister had also given George Plantagenet a son, although he had died during their voyage to England.

Recently, Isabel had given George another child, only this one was a girl, but a healthy child nonetheless. Mary had to laugh every time she heard these songs. It was the same kind of slander her mother faced every time she gave birth to children. Everyone else was fertile except her, yet her mother had proven herself to her father many times, but of course people loved to remember he father's whores and their bastards.

Her mother could have had many healthy children if her father and grandfather had let her but both of them, one of them a miser, the other a lusty lecher, had wrecked her by first depriving her of healthy living conditions and secondly, exerting huge pressure on her shoulders.

Mary held the little Edward in her arms. She already knew his future but that didn't matter. In her arms, he looked exactly like her long lost brother, Edward. A boy she had loved as if he was her own –and a boy who had been responsible for much of the hurt and resentment in her life –just like their father, she thought with a sad smile as she delivered him to her mother. The rest of the court followed her to Anne Neville, (now Duchess of Gloucester), chambers.

Anne got along perfectly with Cecily Neville, the Duchess Dowager, but she wanted to get along with Mary and Elizabeth as well and turning them into her son's godmother had been a great move on her part, Mary considered.

"Thank you." She told the young Duchess of Rutland who had also given birth to her sixth child this year.

Mary smiled at the young Duchess and said she was grateful for being considered and left her chambers along with the queen and their ladies, wishing Anne and her son the very best for her and her son.

* * *

Margaret was furious when she heard Richard had wed that Neville girl. Of course! She should have known. He wed her for the money. After all, who would love Margaret Beaufort, widowed two times and the first time her marriage had brought her nothing but bitter sorrow. The only good thing that had come out of it had been her son, Henry. Her prized son. Her _only _treasure.

With Edward of Westminster gone, Henry VI gone, it all fell on her. She was the only one left of the Lancastrian line. It all fell on her.

_No_ –a voice in her head. That divine voice that had guided her throughout her life.

It all fell on Henry now.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, minor changes. There's a time jump here, not a huge one but just something to keep in mind as you read this chapter. Major events remain historical. Sources listed in previous chapter and one additional source, Martin's last book, Dance with dragons which largely inspired this chapter.**

**Keep reviewing.**

* * *

1478-1483

The door opened and another of the Queen's sisters entered, breathless, her skirts raised the better to run. She had been born Katherine Woodville but marriage turned her into one of the most powerful women in the land.

"My lord! My lord" She cried, "It's over. The Duchess has given birth to a boy."

Edmund's eyes shot open. He'd been falling asleep for the past hour, though he tried not to. His wife had labored for more than three days. Eventually it got to a point where the royal physicians told them that it was either her life or the child's, naturally Edward and Richard told him to choose the child –especially if the child was male- over his wife's life.

He knew his youngest brother's reasons for it. Richard as well as his mother believed that the country –and their family for that matter- would be better off without Mary and Elizabeth tainting their royal blood any further spurting babies with such facility as their relatives gained power.

They had hoped Mary would have died but fate had disappointed them.

Elizabeth came out of the room holding the fifteen minute old baby whom his mother had named Arthur, in honor of her mother's first husband, Arthur Tudor whom her mother had nothing but good words to speak of. It was said that before he died, people spoke of him as the York king, the "rosebush" of England they called him. They thought of him as England's best hope to restore law and order, and true justice to the land his father had violated and ravaged since he came into the throne.

Mary –as she held him in his arms before they took him from her to clean him- whispered in his ears: "My little Arthur, my precious little thing." And kissed his forehead then gave him to Elizabeth who took the bloodied infant and gave him to the midwives.

Edmund looked down at the little babe cradled in the queen's arms. "Arthur." He spoke the name and it evoke all the feelings he'd felt when he had been young and sitting next to his brother hearing the tales of the mythical Arthur and his knights from his mother.

Those had been happier times. Edmund thought. No talk of kingship, politics, or intrigue. He and his family had been truly happy.

He took the babe with the queen's permission and rocked him against his chest. The babe gave a small wail but recognizing who the man was, smiled and then fell asleep.

Anne who was present could not help but be envious. These two women easily sprouted baby as the sun came up every morning and set every afternoon. The Duchess of Rutland and queen of England had only suffered one loss. The Duchess had lost her unborn child when she and the queen had been hiding, when her father took their husbands prisoner, and the queen had lost a girl, Mary named after the Duchess of Rutland and her best friend, not long ago while she was still an infant. But that didn't matter. They kept having more. Almost every year.

Arthur Edmund Edward Plantagenet, the babe with the longest name in England, his parents joked, was baptized on the nineteenth of February. Three days after his birth.

Cecily, the Duchess Dowager, warned her not to attend the christening. It was a shameful event she did not need attend but Anne did so anyways because she wanted to be in everyone's good standing and because unlike her mother in law and her late sister, she did not want to be anyone's enemy. She did not want her pride to be her undoing.

She had learned enough from Margaret of Anjou, the she-wolf, the monstrous Queen, in her brief period of being married to her equally monstrous son. Women were not supposed to be monsters, women who showed qualities anything other than feminine inspired either two things, fear or loyalty, and in the case of Margaret of Anjou it had been the first.

She did not want to end like either of them, spoiled, cruel, and resentful and only dreaming of what could have been. Her father told her to make her own destiny before he went to fight a war that would place her and her late husband in the throne of England. He failed, he dealt his winning cards and lost. Anne was not determined to lose. She wa going to waltz her way into the church and carry the infant with much pride and dignity as a daughter of the house of Neville was supposed to and then she was going to present it to her sister in law and bow her head, just like everyone else in Edward's court had done.

* * *

Mary nestled her son against her breast. Edmund decided to let her nurse her last children. Her other children had been nursed by her for the first two months of their lives but subsequently, Edmund and the queen had pressured her to leave them in the care of wet-nurses. It was something that every noble and royal lady went through and Mary knew how important it was, but she didn't like the idea of somebody else feeding her young.

These last four children unlike her five eldest were entirely hers. John Richard, Angelique, Jacquetta (named in honor of her surrogate mother and great great grandmother, Jacquetta Rivers), and now Arthur.

"Please." Arthur said, speaking his first word and surprising his parents who were already betting with the queen, and his two uncles, the king and Richard, on what it would be.

"Say it again Arthur." Mary encouraged scooping Arthur in her arms and bringing him on the table. He walked with that careful step, peculiar to infants, unaware the adults were watching him with a studious gaze.

"Please." He said when he turned to the queen who took him in her arms and laughed at his curious stare. In the child's mind the woman who had carried him and fed him was the most beautiful woman in the land, gifted with unearthly beauty that always made the infant blink as if to make sure his eyes were not playing tricks on him. But here before him was also a beautiful lady with golden tresses and a golden dress to match it.

"Please." He said again and this time everyone seated laughed, not just his parents.

* * *

Arthur took his first steps as Earl of March, a title the king had had previous to being crowned king and inheriting his father's title upon his cruel execution by the Lancastrian queen.

He was ennobled and lavished with gifts and more titles on his fourth birthday.

He and Edmund became the queen's favorite nephews. Richard rarely brought his son to court but when he did, his shy demeanor and weak constitution did not compare to the perfectly healthy constitution that his less than royal nephews had in contrast.

Mary's oldest on, Edmund, especially had grown into a very robust, active teen who reminded her of her father.

"Mother, can I ride, please, please?" He begged his mother when his uncle Edward presented him with a great stallion.

"Uncle Edward said I could."

"Uncle Edward is not your parent I am and my answer is no."

"Please mother, I promise I won't ask for anything ever again. I just want to participate in the May day joust. You said I could when I was older."

"I did but you are still young and my baby and I won't have my beautiful son's face scarred by that awful sport." She said cupping his face and kissing his forehead.

"Ugh, mother!" He wiped his brother.

Ew! Now cousin Elizabeth would tease him endlessly. He could hear her now: 'Mama's boy' 'Ah, look pretty Edmund needs a kiss from his mommy?'

Ew! Why did his mother have to treat him like a child.

"Mother please, please let me joust." He dropped to his knees and crossed himself making a sacred oath. "It will be my wedding present."

"Edmund…"

"Mama please, I swear to you I will wed any daughter of any house you tell me to. I will even wed one of my cousins like my uncle wanted. Please!" He cried falling on the floor and kissing her feet.

Mary shook her head, rolling her eyes. You would think it would be the girls who'd have a taste for the theatrical but it was her son who was the big drama queen.

She bent down and grabbed his shoulders and helped him up. "Sweetheart, you know I don't like those awful things. Why don't you play chess or tennis like your brothers John and Artie?"

"I hate those things, Cecily always beats me at it."

It was true. Her eldest daughter was always one step ahead of everyone and knew her twin well, she knew what his move would be before he made it.

"I am not a clerk, I am a warrior and you saw my cousins Edward and Richard, their father is letting them joust."

"Their father is the king. He has to let them joust and the Spanish envoys are coming very soon, they will want to be impressed."

"Then what better than to see all the sons of York in their full glory!" Edmund exclaimed but his mother gave him that look that told him the conversation was over.

"It's just too dangerous Edmund, a lot of people die in the tourney. And you've never been in the barracks, most of the men participants are seasoned warriors and you wouldn't know how to fit in. They love taking advantage of little boys like you."

"Then what am I supposed to do? Sit there and watch?"

Mary gave him an open smile. He groaned. "Precisely." She said and before he could say another world, took his hand and called her ladies to follow them to the jousting arena where they would watch the combatants.

* * *

Richard behaved as a son of the noble house of York would. He watched the combatants fight and did not cheer or show favor for any of them until the tourney ended and a victor emerged. His wife and son behaved with the same stoicism.

You would think them the king and queen of this court if not for their position which was third after the king and his brother and their respective wives.

Anne brought a simple wardrobe to court. She did not like to dress extravagantly like her sisters in law. She was here to set up an example and continue translating religious works with her mother in law, Cecily Neville.

* * *

The Duchess Dowager gave one of her favorite religious texts to her favorite grandchild, Cecily Plantagenet.

She had grown into an obscure beauty. Unlike her two extravagant royal cousins, Edward's oldest daughters -Elizabeth and Cecily- she did not make her presence known.

She was tall as her father, six feet and four, with his reddish brown hair, and her mother's dark grey eyes that the Duchess Dowager had often found unsettling.

Her mother had bewitched her father and like Edward's queen turned him away from his Neville relations and polluted the royal line. But this child was different, she behaved with the same grace as a true daughter of the house of York would.

"Thank you, my lady. I shall treasure this." She said simply giving a quick curtsy before leaving her lady grandmother's chambers to return to her mother who was playing with five year old Arthur.

"Sis Ceci!" Arthur shouted, his auburn bangs covering half his face. He would have hit the wall if his father had not come in and put his boot in between, stopping him.

"Careful there Artie, you don't want to end your tenure as Earl of March so soon."

Arthur shook his head. Laughing at Ceci's dismayed expression. "No papa." His father knelt to him when he said he had something important to tell him.

"What is it?" He whispered but everyone in the room could hear him. Cecily tried not to but her father being married to her mother, was not exactly discrete.

"Ceci angry. Roar, roar, roar, she looks a lioness more than a lady. Ha, ha…"

His parents and the rest of his siblings joined in his laughter. All minus one.

Cecily growled mentally but remained silent as her brother made fun of her. After their laughter died down, Cecily ran from the room to her bedchamber and slammed the door behind her.

One day –she promised- they would regret their laughter.

* * *

Edward's health began to fail, he became the subject to an increasing number of ailments. He fell fatally ill at Easter, but lingered on long enough to add some codicils to his will, the most important being his naming of his brother Richard, Duke of Gloucester, as Protector after his death –to rule jointly with their brother, Edmund, Duke of Rutland. He finally succumbed weeks later on April 9, 1483 and was buried in St. George's Chapel, Windsor Castle.

The line of succession dictated that his eldest son as was the tradition with every king since the first king of an unified England, Alfred the Great; would succeed him as king. Edward, the Prince of Wales, however was young and Richard feared the growing influence of the Riverses and the Duchess of Rutland, who was his brother and co Regent's wife.

There were many in parliament who shared his feelings of resentment for the Riverses family. They had been given too many liberties during his brother's reign. No more –Richard swore.

Anne looked at him wide-eyed. Mary Hill had requested her presence at Westminster where they were supposed to crown the boy king, but Richard had been against it, yet, Mary Hill being the determined woman that she was, won in the end.

"You cannot be serious." Anne said as Richard told her what he planned doing to stop the Riverses from wrecking England.

"The Riverses have destroyed our land with their incessant wars, everything that's happened has been their doing, your father you said it yourself was the first to fall under the knife and before him your unborn nephew. A stillborn, a victim of a witch's wind. And our stillborns are not that far behind."

"But Richard, she is your sister in law and she trusts you."

"No, Anne. The Woodville woman doesn't trust anyone, she is as proud as the rest of her family and I suspect the Duchess of Rutland has a hand to play in this. You know she asked the queen to seek sanctuary as her husband lay dying."

"Why would she do that?"

"Why indeed? She knows her husband would give control to me and she doesn't want that. She wants the Riverses to own all of England." He threw his arms in the air and turned then turned back to face Anne. "More blond heads at every council."

"But Richard you share the Regency with Edmund, surely-" But Richard silenced her with a gesture.

"Edmund, my poor brother has been enchanted as well. Who do you think he will be controlled by?"

"But then they would be plotting against you and Edmund. And you told me about Edmund, he never liked the Riverses, he never liked any of them, how can they..." She paused as she came to a realization. "You don't think?"

"I do." Was all Richard said and showed her the map of England pointing all the areas that were loyal to Woodville and Mary Hill. "My brother is loyal to our cause, he never liked the Woodville woman but he has no choice but to support her. He is after all wed to a commoner who unlike Edward's queen has no drop of royal blood. His marriage only happened because the queen wanted it to happen to have another powerful ally in her court." Richard said and Anne could say nothing to counter this.

It was true. The Riverses were growing too powerful and before long they would have all of England in their control. More blond heads running everywhere –her husband's words echoed in her head.

"What are you going to do?"

"I am going to go to London, you and Edward will travel with me. We will stop in Stony Stratford in Buckinghamshire along the way then we will meet Lord Rivers and my nephew's half brother, Richard Grey."

"Will your nephew be present?"

"He will be if his mother expects a coronation." Richard replied. He saw the look of disapproval in Anne. "I know you don't like any of this, but if we let the Riverses take hold of England, it won't be just our country they destroy but everything our fathers fought for as well."

"But Edward is the rightful king of England."

"I agree, he is but his mother's family won't see it that way. They see themselves as the true kings of England and as long as the boy is in their control, England is too."

"And when he is in your control, England will be free then?" Anne asked skeptically.

"I know how this sounds but trust me Anne, once the boy is in my custody I will order a coronation. Things will be like they were meant to be, like they always were before Elizabeth Woodville came into our lives. Trust me." He repeated and held her arms putting it against his chest.

Anne wanted to trust him but she sensed more bad than good would come out of this.

The Woodville queen was ruthless woman. She never forgot and she never forgave, and if the rumors were true about her ancestry, she would work whatever spells she did against her and her family.

* * *

Mary began dreaming with more frequently the nightmare that had plagued her since she gave birth to her second born, Mary. For five years since Arthur's birth she hadn't had this nightmare. Rumors arose that Henry Tudor had succumbed to a fever and died. Mary prayed daily by the river where she hoped the goddess would grant her a vision, that these rumors were true. But as soon as more rumors came back saying that Henry Tudor was well and healthy, Mary knew it in her bones that the inevitable was about to happen.

Mary begged her husband to flee London and move their family with Elizabeth where she was staying with her daughters and younger son, the prince Richard, Duke of York.

In her skin and bones growled a creature of doubt, she could feel Richard was about to seize power and there would be more death and more battles to fight, all of this to strengthen Henry Tudor who hid across the narrow sea with his uncle, Jasper Tudor assembling a large army that would prove the undoing of every York.

She tried to warn her husband but he did not listen to her. There was nothing she could tell him to deter him from his iron will to assist the council meeting that his younger brother, Richard of Gloucester would head.

She took action. At the crack of dawn she and her children fled and joined Elizabeth and her daughters and son in sanctuary.

* * *

Richard finally arrived to London where people were anxious for a coronation. For more than a decade since Warwick's defeat they'd live in peace, and now they were fearful again that another war would erupt between the royal cousins.

Richard attended the first Regency meeting. His older brother Edmund was there. He asked where his wife and children were but Edmund shrugged and said nothing.

He grinned. She was astute as he'd imagined she would be. Her daughters and sons were always two step ahead of everyone and her eldest daughter Cecily was a personal favorite of his mother, and a favorite of his as well. The most beautiful of his nieces, her beauty was often overshadowed by his older niece, princess Elizabeth who'd inherited her mother's golden tresses and her light blue eyes. But there was something about Cecily that spoke of the same unearthly, almost bewitching beauty that her mother possessed, that same beauty that her mother had used to ensnare her father and now her daughter used to ensnare every young man in England.

Richard could not help but smile at the memory when she was a little girl and twirled her in the air and called her the true white rose of England. She was the true white rose of England, he reflected. And very soon she as her cousin Elizabeth would have to marry.

Snapping from his thoughts was the Duke of Buckinham, Henry Stafford who was grateful to be in the presence of very few Woodvilles this time. Only Anthony Rivers and the queen's older son by her first marriage, Richard Grey, were present at this meeting. There were other minor lords –such as Thomas Stanley who had recently married the twice widowed Beaufort heiress, Margaret Beaufort, thus becoming richer. He as many of the minor lords were here in the role of observers. They were not here to discuss or give opinion, their only obligation was to say 'aye' or 'nay' depending on which way the pendulum swung.

Richard and his brother started the meeting. Rather, Edmund did. As the older brother he was given precedence, Richard not wanting to usurp his older brother's authority as he was now the head of the York and Neville family.

As the meeting led on Richard's servant interrupted whispering something in his ear. Richard's eyes seemed like they would bulge from his eye sockets. He excused himself and told his brother to resume the meeting.

Elsewhere Mary screamed as she felt a great pain in her chest. Queen Elizabeth and her grandmother, princess Elizabeth ran to her bedside and shook her awake. "What's wrong?" The younger Elizabeth asked.

Mary looked into her grandmother's eyes. The mother of the Tudor dynasty –she thought grimly. The dreams, the nightmares, the visions, everything had returned, but this had been worse.

She told the older Elizabeth everything she had dreamed from the man taking the crown from a thorn bush to the two boys turning into ice and finally melting and turning into blood.

"What does it mean?" The princess asked her mother who was just as confused as her daughter.

"Have I seen the future?" Mary asked, then she remembered that today was the first council meeting. She asked Elizabeth if she thought this meant her husband and the king were in immediate danger.

The queen shook her head. "No, they can't be. Lord Gloucester is ambitious but even he knows his limitations." She said, however she was uncertain of her words.

* * *

The days passed fairly quickly. Her visions soon took hold of her dreams, she was afraid to sleep at night in fear of what she would see. Soon it was clear, the goddess of the rivers was telling her that nothing had changed. What would come to pass would pass.

Mary refused to believe it. Her divine ancestress had not sent her years back into the past and given her great uncle a second chance just to see the house of Tudor succeed again.

But as the months passed and June came and they finally had news of her husband, Edmund, it became clear that Melusine had played a hard trick on her.

Yet, in the midst of all her doubts, she heard the soft blow of the winds one Wednesday morning and she went close to the river where her grandmother Elizabeth, princess of York was. "You hear her?" Elizabeth asked her aunt by marriage.

Mary nodded. "Yes." She heard the singing, Melusine was calling to them.

She dipped her head in the water and she saw the images of a future that was unlike the one she had come from. She opened her eyes and she could have sworn she saw the goddess herself, half human, half fish, smiling at her before she returned to the depths of the river to her watery home.

Her head resurfaced and she looked at the princess of York. There was something in the princess' eyes, they dawned with recognition as if she was looking at Mary for the first time and Mary understood what this meant. She had finally learned the truth but instead of making her sad as she suspected it would, it brought a smile on her lips.

"You were brought here for this purpose." She said, still smiling.

"How do you know coming here I've only condemned you to a worse life? Where I come from you should have been queen in your own right Elizabeth but instead you were forced to marry Margaret's boy."

"But it served a purpose. Don't you see? Fate made me wed Henry in your universe so he would have your father who would marry your mother and have you and then you would come here and save the York house from extinction."

"I am afraid that's not true. I have only condemned you more."

"You never know." Elizabeth said placing her hand on her granddaughter's shoulder. "Everything has a purpose" Then she stood up, turned back and left.

Mary gazed down at her reflection, her grandmother and great great grandmother's words echoing in her head. _Everything has a purpose._

Could this be her purpose? To prevent the rise of the double rose and the union between Lancaster and Yorks?

She got up and walked inside greeting her children who'd been awakened by their mother's scream. Cecily's eyes were on alert and her youngest sibling, Arthur's were alert as well. They knew what was coming, they heard their mother and aunt talking and they knew that any moment the their fortunes could change.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thanks for everyone's that reviewed. Sources listed in previous chapter however I have to point out for this chapter I relied heavily on Women of the war of the roses by Philipa Gregory, Red queen also by Philipa Gregory, historical-romance the Spitfire and Dangerous love by Beatrice Small, Richard III by David Baldwin and Plantagenet kings and queens by Dan Jones.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

1483

It was late June but preparations for the Duke and Duchess Gloucester's coronation were well underway. It was set for July and Margaret and her husband had been sent for to attend on their future monarchs.

It was Margaret's destiny to smile at the changes of the world and await her reward in heaven, but even she balked for a moment at the doorway of the queen's chambers when she saw little Neville heiress Anne whom Richard had only married out of pure interest. This little thing, this little frail creature that Richard had preferred over Margaret. This little obstacle –thought Margaret. Born well enough, royall married, widowed to nothing, and now risen again to the throne of England itself –standing by the great fireplace surrounded by her ladies from the north. They see Margaret in the doorway; the steward of her chamber bellows, "Lady Margaret Stanley!' in an accent no one living south of Hull could understand, the women shuffle aside, so that Margaret can walk towards their queen, and she stepped forward then went down to her knees, abasing herself to yet another usurper, and held up her hands in the gesture of fealty.

"Your Grace," the title felt empty. Yet she said it with such reverence that the new queen of York, Anne Neville, smiled at her and told her to rise.

"I thank you for your service, and I would have you serve as my senior lady in waiting," she said quietly, a little catch in her breath. "You will carry my train at my coronation."

Margaret bowed her head to hide the flare of joy. She was now one step closer to the crown. As senior lady in waiting she would be at the head of every intrigue and hear every gossip and report back to Jasper and her son, and her husband Stanley who sat at the king's council.

* * *

Margaret's prediction proved true. Her family was where it was always meant to be –at the heart of intrigue.

She should revel in her triumph. She had just received a letter from John Morton, Bishop of Ely who told her that she was a true daughter of Christ and he supported whatever she did and acknowledged that her son was the true and only king of England and every son of the York was an usurper and_ 'a great threat to stability of the realm._' Yet she did not.

After she and Stanley left in the early hours of the morning, following the last of the coronation ceremonies, she turned to her left and gazed as she gazed twelve years back when her cousin Henry was briefly reinstated as monarch, at the Abbey where the former queen of York and the Duchess of Rutland were. Alone, one widowed and the other abandoned, with only the memories of their glory days to keep them company. They had no one.

* * *

The same day that Margaret sent a letter to her son and his uncle, Jasper Tudor, she received another letter from the Bishop of Ely who gave her glorious news that he had been released from the tower into the care of the Duke of Buckingham, at his house at Becknock.

She did not know whether to be happy or not. Henry Stafford was a pompous fool, strutting and arrogant but he did have a knack for vengeance and the young man was resentful, very resentful against the Woodvilles and Richard especially for not favoring him as much as he thought he would.

' … _the young Duke is struggling with his conscience that he raised Richard to the throne on poor grounds, and that he would have served his god, his country, and himself better if he had either supported the York princes and himself become their protector, or claimed the throne for himself. He is now ready to turn against Richard and will join a rebellion against him …'_

This last line brought a smile to her lips._ 'He is now ready to turn against Richard …' _That was all she needed to hear.

She began making plans and told one of her servants to fetch doctor Lewis. It was time to send the old doctor the former queen and to ensure a bargain that would secure her son's crown once and for all.

* * *

Mary trained her youngest daughter Angelique in the ways of the court. "Why do I have to train? Richard will be king soon."

"How do you know that?"

"It's what everyone says lady mother. Everyone from the poor to the rich, I've heard their song in the wind."

"You better not speak of it then. You will upset your aunt."

"She is already upset and…" she lowered her voice, "I think she knows."

"Either way you mustn't say a thing."

"When will father come back?" Angelique asked. For a girl of only ten she understood more things than girls her age, like Mary she never cried and only lived to please her parents.

This girl never cries –her father would boast to his late brother's courtiers. Mary reminisced when it was her who was showed off the royal court and held in her father's arms and declared his beloved pearl.

She kissed her daughter's cheeks and made her promise not to say another word then led her down the stairs where the rest of their family was waiting to attend the daily mass.

"No word of the Duke, my lady?" The Abbot asked her before the service began. Mary shook her head. She could not tell him the truth that her husband was likely dead or worse imprisoned.

The Abbot smiled sadly at the former Duchess. His heart went out to her more than the queen. Unlike the Woodville woman, the Duchess was humble and had a sweet disposition. She visited every hospitable nearby daily and never failed to give what little she had -be it material goods or just her kindness- to the poor wretches there.

That was why he couldn't bare to tell her that her husband had abandoned her and had stood next to his brother at his coronation feast, celebrating his success.

There was a beast of doubt growling in her very being as the mass ended.

One royal messenger came demanding the queen and Duchess to bring the Duke of York and her oldest sons into his custody.

Mary refused but Richard won and Mary ended giving her two eldest sons away.

"When does it end?" Mary asked her great grandmother when they were in their chambers. She and Elizabeth shared chambers, so if any danger came both women would be aware and ready to run away with her children if needed be.

"Until we've dealt with all our enemies."

"Then it will be a long time. For every enemy we deal with, we create two more."

"It's the way of kings, our mother Jacquetta warned us they would not stop, and neither should we."

Days passed, late July. Mary awaited news of her husband. Margaret Beaufort had sent her physician to visit them, to renew the queen's promise in exchange of her allegiance, to wed her eldest daughter, Elizabeth of York to her only son and heir, Henry Tudor, the Earl of Richmond. She had carried Anne Neville's train during her husband's coronation and hers, and her husband was at the heart of every intrigue. Elizabeth Woodville, the former queen was convinced she was an ally they could not afford to use and so she renewed her promise and vowed that as soon as her sons were released and restored and Mary's husband's former title given to his eldest son; her daughter young Elizabeth would wed Henry Tudor.

"You trust him?" Mary asked Elizabeth later that afternoon, knowing that the girl had seen the future as her mother. She guessed this would be one of the many visits they would receive by her great grandmother, Margaret Beaufort's personal physician and spy.

"No, but my mother does and she believes lady Stanley will help her free my brothers and your older sons. If this is true then I can wed Edmund and we won't have to worry about anything."

"If that is true. What if she kills them?"

"What reason has she? Her cause is lost with more York boys than she could have wished for, I am sure where you come from there was not many York boys or any York princes but now there are and so she can't do anything."

Don't be so sure white princess –Mary thought but kept that thought to herself.

Mary awaited a letter from her husband. Finally it came and it was as she had expected and feared.

_I love you and I will always love you. But my duty calls to me first and I am afraid I cannot be loyal without being loyal to the York cause. I wish you and our children the best but truth is I cannot work for a cause I no longer believe in.  
Yours truly, your loving and eternally faithful husband,_

_Edmund Plantagenet.  
(I have spoken to my brother, he will give my title to his son, Edward Middleham, as for our children, they will have titles of their own. I hope you can understand)_

She did not understand Edmund's reasoning. How could he do this?

He was dead. Yes that had to be it. -She refused to believe he would betray her. This was an imposter, nothing more than one of Richard's minions who had disguised himself as her Edmund.

There was no other explanation.

* * *

Margaret wrote to her husband, lord Stanley to enact their plan. With Baron Hastings, lord Rivers, and several others executions, this was their time to foment rebellion and stir enmity between the own Yorks.

The queen herself said to her physician that she did not trust Richard and would do anything to see her sons and the Duchess of Rutland's sons released.

She sent her doctor back to the queen. He begged her not to. "There is something unusual in the princess Madame, I beg you not to send me back. I would feel more comfortable in the lady Cecily's stead, there is a lady one can hold conversation but the princess Elizabeth Madame, she is mad if not more terrifying than her mother." He raged. But Margaret needed him back.

Something he had said when she questioned him about the second prince in the tower, something the former queen of Edward had said_. "It's not Richard."_

Could it be? Had she sent an impostor and the real Richard was elsewhere? She hoped so. She did not like the idea of shedding innocent blood for her son's holy crusade.

It was all that mattered –all he needed to do. To make sure she would wipe out all the York threats and then it would only be Richard, Edward Middleham, and the Duchess of Rutland's younger son named after the fabled king of England, who would stand in her son's way. Just three minor threats. Three minor threats they could wipe out as easily as they would wipe out the princes and the young lords in the tower.

"Go back." She said, her voice leaving no room for discussion but he remained where she was and she had to ask him what else troubled him.

"There is something else my lady."

"Speak up."

"There is something else my lady."

"What?" She asked, her voice and tone as her gaze, hard.

"The princess. She said that she was cursed to be the next Queen and after her another."

"Another? What do you mean another?"

Doctor Lewis shook his head. "I don't know my lady. She only said and I quote 'twice born on the same year, one will be queen first the other second but both of us are meant to be queens of England."

Margaret pondered at this then waved her hand dismissively at the doctor but the doctor would not go. "My lady," he begged one more time, "I beg you do not send me back. The princess and her mother scare me, when she came back from where she was she was soaked wet and she looked as if she was the specter of death."

"And the duchess? They say she is a demon nymph, a dirty urchin, the devil's mistress. Her own husband is said has abandoned her and given up his titles in favor of his younger brother. Imagine that!" Margaret said with a mocking laugh. "He must really hate her now. His mother must have opened his eyes to the truth. That she is nothing but a nobody, a dirty commoner, a devil's mistress."

The doctor said nothing and let his lady continue.

"I bet the rumors are also true. They say she shares similarities with the Yorks, her father must have been the late Duke of York, he must have bed her whore mother and that's how she came into being. Their marriage is an abomination and their children abominations as well."

"That might be Madame-"

"It might not be. **It is**. And the sooner you convince yourself of this truth doctor, the easier it will be for you to face these people." Margaret said.

Traitors all of them. She had never forgive them for taking her family's throne. Their whole family were a plague on England. The whole lot of them.

The doctor did not argue with her anymore on this point however he retook his earlier point and said, "The princess Elizabeth is a terrifying young woman my lady, beautiful but terrifying, she speaks in nothing but cryptic messages. The Duchess of Rutland is no better Madame."

"Mistress Hill. Whatever the former queen was doctor, she is still noble and far nobler than that dirty urchin can ever hope for. Mistress Hill." She repeated when the doctor began moving his lips.

"Mistress Hill." He rephrased, "She was silent the whole time but her eyes seemed older than she was and her beauty Madame, it is as if she has not aged a day, while the queen continues to age, the former Duchess does not. Mistress Hill just stood there listening to our conversation, I could have sworn Madame her gaze was just as terrifying as yours. She has eyes of a hawk, she did not say anything, I don't think she needed to. She just stood there listening intently, her eyes more terrifying than the princess' appearance itself." He took a deep breath and repeated the only words the former Duchess had said during his entire interview with the former queen of Edward.

"Is that it?"

"No my lady." He said and said the last of her words.

Margaret looked at him in stunned incomprehension. "Are you sure?"

"Yes Madame. She is more terrifying than any person I've met and I've been at court and I've been in the presence of vultures and wolves but the former Duchess is a lioness, a serpent, all the beasts of York put together. Her eyes showed no mercy and she said so herself that she's had a vision of a man standing in front of a porticullis holding a red and white rose in each hand, crying tears of blood."

"What else?" Margaret demanded, impatient with the man's pregnant pauses. She needed to know, this was the moment of revelation, the sign she needed from god before she proceeded to give her husband and her former kinsman, the Duke of Buckingham, the order to dispose of the princes in the tower and their older cousins.

"She said he wore a crown. A crown gotten from battle, a battle she said that would make him king of nothing and everything."

"Is that all?" Margaret asked, her eyes alit with the gleam of ambition. This was the sign, the sign of the holy cross. And the lord will work in mysterious ways –she remembered a voice telling her in her dreams. This was His way of telling her it was her son's time, his time and the rise of the house of Lancaster. The time to avenge her family and the former Lancaster kings, Henry and his son, Edward of Westminster who'd been murdered at the battle of Tewkesbury.

The doctor's voice snapped her from her thoughts. "No my lady. She said one last thing."

"Well?"

" 'And the king shall not know rest and he will be a tyrant as when I heard of him.' " The man paused and waited for his mistress to speak.

"Is that it?" Margaret asked with a smirk on her face. "Clearly doctor these are the words of a mad woman, you said it so yourself. What matters now is that former queen acknowledges her promise to wed her daughter to my son. Make sure she does." She said and dismissed him.

It didn't matter that it wasn't Richard, Duke of York who was at the tower. What mattered was that everyone believed it was Richard. Even if the true Richard resurfaced, no one would believe it was him.

Things would finally go the way Margaret wanted them to go. The former queen of York finished, her marriage declared null and void because of Edward's pre-contract with another lady from another house, it made her children illegitimate. Richard had no more use of them, nonetheless he knew how dangerous the Riverses were. So it was better to keep them close where he could be sure no one would use them to plot against them.

_Child,_ thought Margaret. For a king, the former Duke of Gloucester, was very naïve. You don't imprison your enemies, you killed them. That was what brawling was, ripping out the weeds before they strangle you in your sleep.

* * *

"Shh," Mary told her five year old son, Arthur. "Nobody is going to hurt you."

"But they've already taken Edmund and John."

"They will be fine, Edmund is brave you know that and John is a young lion. Nothing will hurt them and you are here with me little cub."

"But I am afraid." Whimpered her youngest boy. She cleaned his tears with her handkerchief.

"Do not cry my son. You are a lion just as your father."

"But everyone says father hates us, that's why he doesn't recognize us."

"That's different. Your father has a good reason."

"What is that? It's been two months since uncle Richard was crowned. Father was there at his coronation, he wore the blue, red, and golden colors and toasted in his favor. Everyone knows this." Arthur said sniffing. "Did grandmother Cecily finally convince him we are no good? Is that why people whisper he will marry again?"

"No my son. He is still married to me. Unlike your aunt Elizabeth, your father's marriage to me is still true in everyone's eyes, I am his rightful wife." Mary said and as she spoke the words she was reminded of her mother who spoke these words not so long ago. Or so it seemed to her who still remembered the jeers and insults thrown at her mother while she stood as servant for her sister Elizabeth at Hackney then Hatfield.

"Mama."

"Yes, my son?"

"If uncle Richard asks me to go to the tower, will you let me go?"

She tried very hard not to cry. She bit her bottom lip. "I won't. I promise you I will not, you will stay here with me."

"But what if he comes here himself? He threatened to come here when you refused to send Edmund and John." He pointed out.

"It doesn't matter love, I will not send you, I promise. They will have to cut my arms before they tear you from my arms."

He twined his arms around her neck. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to die like Edmund and John and my cousins Richie and Edward."

"Oh my son, what makes you say that? Do not say that please, your brothers are fine and so are your cousins, nothing will harm them. I promise you." She said, trying to hold her back the tears that threatened to fall. She stroke her son's back. He was so vulnerable, out of all her children he was the one who relied more on Mary, just as Angelique. She didn't know what she would do if they tore those two from her. She would probably go mad.

* * *

Edmund looked next to him at his mother. She had demanded to bring Cecily. She had great plans for her. She was -she said her favorite grandchild- but Edmund would not submit her to the intrigues of this court.

This was no longer a York court or any royal court, this was a court of intrigue, arse-licking, and backstabbing, and his wife did not know it but taking her eldest sons away and giving up his own title, he'd saved them all from being used by their enemies.

There was a plot against the Yorks. Richard was convinced. He had his suspect list, but he could not trust on anyone except Edmund who'd proven himself more loyal than Richard could have ever hoped for.

He sent gifts every day to his favorite granddaughter -Angelique. While their mother loved Cecily almost to a fault, Richard and Edmund and the entire court loved Angelique even more.

Angelique was as her name -an angel. A complete angel and a princess through and through and although their mother said she was a complete blunder and paled in comparison to her older sisters and cousins; he and Richard didn't think so. She was far more beautiful than all of her cousins and sisters combined.

Even the late Duchess of Clarence, Isabel Neville, England's present queen's sister, adored her. She sent her gowns and lavished her with dolls and jewels. George had also loved her.

He sighed. Thinking of George was always difficult but he told himself at the time it was necessary. What was one brother's death to welfare of millions? And George was doomed since the start, he had always been treacherous and unstable and he had not been a good father. It was better that he died the way he died and when he did so he would not cause them anymore troubles in the future.  
His children were remanded into Richard's custody and he treated them as if they were his own children. He loved them and at times he even considered making their nephew, young Edward Plantagenet, his heir if something (god forbid) should happen to his son.

Edward, Earl of Warwick would make a good king but he was too young and boy kings were always dangerous. The Riverses or worse one of Edmund's own daughters through Mary influenced by Elizabeth Woodville, would take possession of his court and his realm and it would be Edward IV all over again.

They could not go through that risk, not again. Not when there were enemies everywhere wishing them to fall.

Edmund vowed he would find them and when he did, he and Richard would return everyone's titles to whom they belonged and at long last England would have what they always desired and what they had fought, killed, and struggled so long to achieve. _Peace_.

* * *

She didn't lie when she told Arthur they would have to cut her arms to make her give him up. After she wrote to Richard telling him that she would never give up her son, he agreed to leave them in peace.

Mary was shocked that he had agreed, much less that he had not tried to take her son by force. But tehn she thought –has he ever taken something by force? Besides the crown, that is.

Yes, Edward and Richard. But were they really taken by force? As far as she knew Edward had never been in any real danger. And neither was Richard –Elizabeth had seen to that- and her sons sent her letters constantly telling her of her good conditions. Of course, Elizabeth told her not to believe a word he said.

"_Everything that comes out of his mouth is a lie."_ She said. "_His crown was bought with lies and murder_."

Even then, supposing her great grandfather had promised marriage to this Eleanor Butler, wasn't Richard only doing what he should be doing? -Given that Edward had made that promise to Eleanor Butler.

And then Angelique. Why send her all these gifts that she and Elizabeth returned, fearful that they could be poisoned or a ploy to endear her little daughter to Richard. Why send them at all if his intentions were to make them all suffer?

She had turned down many offers to send her oldest and youngest daughter at court but now she began to rethink her decisions. What if she did send them? What if they were safe there and the danger lay here?

She could not think straight at the moment. She needed to sit down and clear her head from all doubts but how could she when she had known betrayal all her life? How could she know who to trust? And what were Edmund's reasons for this.

Was his letter true?

Did he really mean to deliver England from York threats, to restore England to peace and to its former glory –or had he finally grown tired of her? Was his real intention to dispose of her and look for a younger and nobler bride as her former husband.

Bile rose to her throat as she thought of Philip. If there was any justice in this world, she hoped that he and her sister were rotting in hell.

She had known nothing but misery when she had been married to Philip and when she had loved her sister. She had saved her death and she still conspired against her.

_Maybe that is the lesson I should learn from all of this_ –she thought. _–Never to trust in people._

Her great grandmother, Elizabeth Woodville's motto was –never forgive, never forget.

She would never forgive and she would never forget Richard for this and for that she had made Mary and her oldest daughter, young Elizabeth stand beside her as she cursed Richard and all his heirs to the tenth generation. _'May they have no children' –_she had said then folded the paper bearing her curse and put it on the river where their divine ancestress would see that her curse was fulfilled.

Mary did not know if she could curse again. After Warwick, she genuinely thought that with more children, the York threats would be gone. There was even a vain hope that Margaret Beaufort, her great grandmother would stop conspiring but it had been that, just a vain hope.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thanks for your reviews.**

* * *

1483

Mary took Angelique in her arms. She was light for a child her age. She turned ten two months past and she was anxiously awaiting her birthday present. Her mother told her she would get one as soon as they returned to court but Angelique in spite of her young age knew better than this.

"Mother, look what Elizabeth made me for me." She showed her the quilt. "She said she made it when she was my age. Look mama, she says I can make my own now. Will you let me teach her?"

"Yes, I was never good at knitting."

"Why not?"

"Well at the farm where I lived my father was constantly looking for a husband for me and I had no time to knit or to indulge myself in many things."

"Didn't you feel lonely? All there by yourself? Where was your mother?"

"Your grandmother was dead. She died a long time before I met your father."

"I am sorry."

"It's alright my sweet, I hardly knew her. I grew with more tales about her than actually knowing her but I did love her and the memories of our brief time together when I was a child, not older than you, nobody can take those away from me. Now, what do you want to show me?" Mary said, switching the conversation to a pleasanter topic.

Her daughter showed her the quilt again and thrust it into her mother's hands. "It's beautiful." Mary admitted. She wished she had paid attention to lady Salisbury and lady Bryan's lessons but she always thought reading and riding was more important than honing homemaking skills –which she said would not be good for anything since she would be queen and therefore she'd had other sot knit for her.

How naïve she was –and arrogant –her mind added. She gave it back to her daughter and rose from her chair and went to visit the princess Elizabeth. She was showing her son Arthur how to dance.

"Put your hand like this." She showed him show and Arthur mimicked her. He extended her arm and his hand was parallel to hers, then they began to dance, a slow circle then turned and came back to their initial position only to part again.

"How did I do cousin?"

"You did well Arthur, better than fine, you will be a skilled courtier someday."

"Really?" His usual cheerfulness had returned and Mary had to smile as her grandmother led him to the center of the room once more and scooped him in his arms as if he was her own boy and twirled him in the air.

"Hurrah! I am the king of the world! I am king! I am king!" He screamed and his cousin encouraged him screaming with him.

"Yes Arthur you are king, you are king and very soon you will be Duke of Rutland!" As she spoke the words she did not notice her aunt and granddaughter, Mary, watching them from the doorway, her eyes wide and her daughter stunned as she at the revelation.

* * *

Margaret's messenger, doctor Lewis, came to the Abbey again to tell them of the upcoming attack on the Tower. "Lord Stanley will select the men to join your men before he leaves to London with the royal progress," he said, dropping without ceremony into a seat, sitting between the former queen and the Duchess. "They are drawing their armor and their weapons as they speak, they only need confirmation."

"Why can't they do that right now? Lady Stanley should know her loyalties, I will have my sons and my nephews out of the tower. King Richard has done them a great injustice, my son is the rightful king and heir, his father deemed it so."

"Madame the councilors have not produced your late husband's will. It was lost in a great fire Richard claimed."

"No doubt." Elizabeth said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Everything that man did was not without purpose, she didn't doubt that there had been an accident, very convenient prior to taking her second son Richard and her older nephews to the tower, she said.

"Your Grace I cannot dispute these claims nor can I agree to them, to do so would mean death to me and to you as well. Think of your children, the lady Stanley begs you to do so and to reconsider before you say 'yes'."

"Reconsider?" She scoffed." I will not." She declared. Clearly the lady Stanley, plain, clerk Margaret Beaufort did not know her.

"I will never forget what Richard has done to me. It is either this or nothing –you can tell the lady Stanley that. I will have my children doctor Lewis and as soon as you reach your mistress tell her that her sovereign lady commands to give the order to her husband to storm the tower, join my men and free my sons and nephews from their bondage."

"Yes Madame." Said doctor Lewis with his head inclined and rising from his chair, dropping into a curtsey, he left the room without bothering to look at the cold Duchess of Rutland's eyes whose eyes followed him to the door.

* * *

"It is all set. I will travel to London and from there I shall give the order." Her husband told her.

Margaret nodded and gave an open smile. Finally it would all be as they planned.

"I am about to select other men to lead the party. I just need to know your will."

"My will?" Margaret asked. What did he mean? "My will is the Lord's will."

"If my men break down the door to the Tower before the queen's men get there (as I plan they should) and if they are able to fight their way to the boys' chambers, will it be your will or god's that they catch them up like lost lambs and return them to their mothers? Or, are they to slice off their little heads then and there, and slaughter the servants and then blame it all on them?"

Margaret stared at him. Sure, they'd plotted and she considered the option, even dreamed about it, but to actually decide on it, cast the die on four innocent teens and children's lives as if they were worth nothing, was something too inconceivable, even for Margaret.

"No." She shook her head steeling herself. "These are your orders to your men, they are to kill the usurper's men and free the princes and their cousins, afterwards, what happens will be your decision and not mine." _My hands are clean in this –_her meaning was clear.

"Ah," smiled Stanley then he chuckled. "So my dear godly wife has no conscience where adult men are concerned but when it comes to four potential threats, two of them who are young men with minds of their own might I remind you, she does nothing but cringe and turn away –just like any good hypocrite."

"Do not blaspheme! My visions come from god. His will is my will."

"Then I suppose we let them live then?" She said nothing. "This is your plan to get your son on the throne," he said tightly. "If the princes and their cousins are dead, then four rival claimants are gone, and your son is three steps closer. If they rejoin their mothers, then they will be able to turn out all the south of England in their defense. Need I remind you that last time you tried to send another messenger and catch the former Duchess alone you couldn't because the former queen is always with her. Mary Hill is much her creature as any Rivers. With her sons by her side she will find more reasons to support her sister in law's sons' claim to the throne and stir up a rebellion that will end up costing more lives and in the end –you –Margaret Beaufort will be nothing more than an ugly little urchin, a little clerk who will continue to be the object of pity of these proud women." He approached her and hissed in her ear. "Is that what you want?" He threw his hands in the air when he received no answer and walked back and forth, increasing his pace across the room with his hands behind his back. "Men have died for less. She commanded her husband to execute Warwick and she would have done so had it not been for his brother Richard and his common sense. Now that there is no Edward, she has no moral conscience stopping her. She could do as she wants and with those children, she and her family would be once more the true ruling power in England." He sighed. There is no point fighting for that woman, it is a noble cause though, to take arms in favor of her sons and her nephews. I am sure you would go down in history as the noble heroine, but this is not time for good sentiment. This is a war and you said it yourself, god's will is to see your son on the throne. What better tool than me your husband, with all the man at my disposal?"

Margaret hid her hands behind her back. "Obviously the York princes and their older cousins are a threat." She said, trying not to quiver but she did, her voice showed just how uncertain she was and how deep down she was still a frail woman with –Stanley feared- a conscience.

"Evidently," Stanley replied. "But do you want to stop them breathing as well? Give me the command and I shall tell the men. There will be no suffering, a quick dagger in their bellies and it will all be over."

She found her hands gripping each other more strongly. "God's will." She whispered. That's what she always told herself. God's will. This is the Lord's doing. And it is marvelous in our eyes. She could feel the certainty cursing through her veins, the same certainty that other saints felt when they were plagued with dangerous thoughts. Some of these saints killed and butchered in the Lord's name. They were remembered as heroes and didn't the church tell them to emulate them?  
But the king of Israel and all the saints Margaret could think of, did not ride or lead armies against little boys and plunge daggers into their bellies.

But this was war.

Thomas Stanley rose from his seat. "I must go inspect the muster. What is your wish? I have to order the captains, I haven't have all day or all the hour for that matter. I can't tell them to wait until god has made up His mind."

She rose too. "The little one is only nine years old."

"Then let him live and rally up an army when he grows up to be a man and he finds support … oh wait! He already has in the form of his mother." He said icily. "War is hard, wife. What are your commands? They live or die?"

"The others could –"

"The others would just be as dangerous to your son's claim as the princes. Do you know how Edward got on the throne? Hmm? No? No answer from my willful lady, well then let me remind you wife. He was a simple earl, a simple Earl of March but with half his father's armies and his cousin, a cousin who had all the loyalty of his father's armies once he died and his brother, Edmund of Rutland, he took England and imprisoned your king and placed the crown on his head. Your son is following in his footsteps. You don't want more usurpers, pretenders, and long lost sons of York threatening his claim as your cousin's son and his wife threatening Edward's." He said in a hiss.

"No." She responded.

"Then give the order. Now Margaret, now when there is still time. Give the order now and it will all be gone, the threats, the nightmares. Your son will only be three steps Madame behind the usurper. Give the order."

She heard her husband's voice in her head and her conscience telling her this was wrong and not god's will. But didn't the bible say that the Lord worked in mysterious ways? Could this not then be another one of his signs? Was the Lord speaking through Thomas, her husband, and his men, and guiding her to put an end to her son, England's rightful king's enemies? Her voice quivered even more and Thomas could swear he saw crystalline unshed tears in her ears. "To order the death of four boys. Four boys, two aged twelve and nine and the other two not royal, just Duke's sons and a former Duke at that! … Four innocent boys …" She stopped.

He smiled a wolfish smile. "Oh, then say the word then and we will return them to their remaining relatives, their wicked half brothers, their wicked mother, and their cousins to the dirty nymph and they will all be happy again and then I am sure when court is restored you can call your son back he will be reinstated as an Earl. An Earl in all his glory just as you intended. A glorious Earl."

"No! I will not have my son a simple Earl." She bellowed. She had not worked this hard with Jasper just to see her son die a simple noble's death. His destiny was greater, she knew it, Jasper knew it, her own mother knew it when she forced her into the altar to marry Edmund Tudor. Her son knew it. She owed it to her boy to take him to the throne of England and put the crown on his head –just as another holy woman not so long ago in France, a simple maid, had done so with her prince, now the king of France.

"Clock is ticking wife, you must choose. Their lives or your son's, neither can live while the other s live. It is fate, they are your son's death or your son is theirs. You have to decide now, save the boys or slaughter them. The choice is yours."

The maid unsheathed her sword and rode out without fear, hesitation, or doubt, she did what was needed, what god told her to do. So now Margaret must as well. She steeled herself and said, her voice cold and her face expressionless, "They will have to kill them. Obviously, the boys have to die."

* * *

She thought of the Tower of London, the place where so many people had gone before being brought to the scaffold or tortured at her father's orders.

She always knew that when you were brought there you were doomed. There was no way of escaping the king's justice. Her father was cruel and merciless, any shade of goodness she remembered from her childhood days has vanished into thin air when he met the concubine, Anne Boleyn. Yet now thinking of these men, these Yorkist men who wielded power and condemned men as easily as a man snapped his fingers, she realized hi actions were nothing compared to theirs.

Richard had sent yet another gift for Angelique and his mother, the Duchess Dowager, once again requested Cecily's presence, Mary's eldest daughter.

Mary did not want to part with either of her children and politely refused their offer and send Richard's gifts back along with the message that until her husband's titles were reinstated she and her children would come back to court.

Mary listened intently to the birds singing. Her daughter's voice was a musical one, Cecily was teaching Angelique how to sing but to their chagrin Angelique had a terrible voice.

"Like this." Cecily told her, opening her mouth, and began to sing. Her voice was so beautiful the birds stopped playing and looked down at her. Every animal turned and gathered around her.

It was something pulled out of a fairy tale, and even she (Mary) was enchanted.

The queen's shrieks made her come from her thoughts. She asked her great grandmother what was wrong and she showed her a letter. Mary dropped it. "No!"

"They promised us they would release them!" Mary said adding what she and Elizabeth had heard from their last conversation with Margaret's man, doctor Lewis, that their men would be a force strong enough to release their children from their prison.

"Apparently they were not. Someone amongst us has been a spy. Someone told Richard of our plans."

"But how?" Mary asked. They had been so careful. "Send a messenger to the lady Stanley, perhaps not all is lost. If the children are moved then that means it will be a location nobody suspects, one that will be less known and therefore less guarded. Richard can't risk another attack so he will want it to be somewhere secluded."

Elizabeth smiled at Mary. "That is brilliant." But then her smile waned as she thought of all the possible locations their children could be. "But there are so many, how can we know where they are? Richard has bested us twice, this I will not forgive. He's keeping our children far from their mothers because he knows what we will do once we have them. He fears us. He knows he is hiding the rightful king of England. He will not stop until they are dead."

A shudder went through her spine. This was the story she had grown with all her life. Richard the child-killer, Richard the usurper, Richard the traitor, Richard the kinslayer, Richard the murderer . But would he actually do it? Would he do the deed?

She remembered how high in the air he had thrown Edmund when he was little and how much her husband begged to name their second son John Richard after him. He had always treated her children with respect, giving them nothing but love but her great grandmother had a point. Richard was a king –for now- and to cement his power he had to eliminate all claimants from the line of succession, including his own nephews.

Would he do it though? Mary wondered then shifted her eyes to Elizabeth and her sister and cousin, the two Cecilys who were standing in the doorway, wearing a worried expression on their faces as they listened to their mothers.

"We have failed." Sobbed Elizabeth, looking like a wounded animal more than the powerful and fearless queen she once had been.

"No we have not. This is just a small setback, the boys were better guarded than you or I could have thought. Nobody knew about it, not even lady Stanley, but if we act now we can find the location of where they will be next and free them."

"You make it sound so easy. You should have known as I these people will never forget what we've done. If it is trace back to us –and it will- they will have all our heads and our children as well."

"No they will not. Richard knows he cannot cross us now. He's seen the power of rebellion, he knows the power we wield. He will execute some of the figureheads and minor leaders but not the leaders themselves, he cannot risk it. His reign is already unstable."

"But he will come after us. I will not let the man get away with this."

"Did uncle Lionel and Richard and our brother Thomas get away safely?" Elizabeth asked, disappointed as her mother by this turn of events but excited to form part of these conversations and be in the center of the intrigue.

"Yes they did. They got away safely. Some of Stanley's men helped him. Your brother Thomas will go into hiding, your uncles will return to their armies to try and assemble more men. They will be successful this time." Elizabeth said imperiously.

"Will they mother? Will they be freed when all attempts have failed?" Elizabeth's sister, princess Cecily asked her. "Perhaps it is not His will to have the Riverses on the throne." She said, quickly regretting her words as her mother turned her piercing blue eyes at her.

"Watch your tongue girl. I will not have that treasonous talk in my midst. If you are not with us then you are against us. Get out!"

Princess Cecily left the room sobbing and crying, her older sister, Elizabeth, running after her. Only Cecily, Mary's oldest daughter remained and she listened attentively as the older women resumed their conversation, never once interrupting and digesting all information possible.

* * *

Mary wrote a long letter to Margaret Beaufort, her other great grandmother. She knew she plotted against them and that this was more a setback to her than to them. She wrote a letter condemning her for her actions and revealing everything, whether or not she would believe her, it remained to be seen. –But she swore, if something happened to any of her two children, anything as much as a scratch on their faces, she would have her and her son's future progeny castrated.

* * *

Margaret smirked at the openness in which the former Duchess of Rutland declared her enmity towards the last Lancastrians. The girl must have thought her a fool not to see right through her. Dirty urchin, bastard, dirty demon, all this time Margaret had thought so of her because she had been right. She had known when she saw her, that red hair, those dark grey eyes –so much like her son, Henry Tudor- and that fair skin, lips and beauty, all York and Woodville traits.

Now she was threatening her and accusing her of kinslaying. Margaret would not offer her a reply. She was better than that. If her own flesh and blood wanted to berate her for putting their family on top, let her, she was the one who was ungrateful one. In the end, everything Margaret had predicted would come to pass, everything she had worked so hard for, would become a reality.

But first, to ensure her dream's survival she had to go to a former ally. One she knew was no friend of the Riverses but neither was he of York. Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham. And convince him to plan one of the greatest rebellions that not only would upset the balance of power and turn it in Henry's favor but also rid herself of those four obstacles that Richard was hiding very well.

Them gone, her son would take the crown.

And as for Mary _Hill,_ Margaret had already decided her fate.

It was time women like her knew their position.


	17. Chapter 17

**Thanks for all your reviews.  
A/N: Some lines were taken from the red queen, the rest is from biographies and sources listed in previous chapters, mainly Baldwin and Asher Hill.  
Enjoy and review!**

* * *

1483

The king was appalled. It was a shock to him. He had heard of the lady Woodville's plotting against him and her Uncles' attempt to free the boys. What did they need to be free from?

Richard had declared them bastards and it was only a matter of time before parliament declared his older brother's children bastards as well. It was imperative to keep the royal line pure and secure for future generations.

He had not missed all of his history lessons to know that the only way to keep a dynasty secure was through forming alliances with other houses, the major houses in England and not some commoner one like the one his brother Edward married.

He sighed. Edmund turned his head in his direction. "What's wrong? Is it your conscience again?"

"No Edmund, if it was my conscience I would not hear it. What was our father's old saying –every time a man listens to his conscience he falls prey to his own wishes and cons."

"Our father had many sayings, I hardly remember them. I can't believe you do. Mayhap that is why you are a better king."

"I am not king. I am simply lord protector of the realm."

"King, lord, does it matter? You rule England and you took the crown just as father would have wanted. That makes you king, brother." Edmund said with mock, smiling at his brother as he blushed. For all his courage and dexterity in the battlefield as well as in the council, his brother was still his little brother. Naturally, he felt protective of him.

"I have been thinking."

"Oh Lord, that's never a good sign."

"I am serious Edmund, I have been thinking and I think I will give our brother's woman's heirs their titles back."

Edmund nearly spilled his drink. "You mean you'll make them king and duke of York again?" He asked dreading, hoping against all despair, that his brother would nod. Thankfully, he did not.

He gave a single and slow shake. "Nay, I cannot do that. What is done is done, however I do intend to bestow them the titles of Duke of York and Earl of Richmond."

"But that is Henry Tudor's title, Margaret Stanley's boy. She will never forgive you Richard, she's been loyal to you thus far, if she hears of this you will make a powerful enemy."

"I don't care. The title belongs to the crown since Margaret has refused to call her boy to England. Her brother in law's title I shall also give to one of my own, your oldest son, Edmund. He will be turned into Earl of Pembroke and a Duke later –once he proves his loyalty of course." He added quickly, waiting for his brother's reaction. Thankfully, it was a good one. Better than what he had expected.

"Do you think Elizabeth Woodville will accept it? The Riverses still live and they tried to break my children and her children free, as long as they live, England will never be at peace."

"I know but we have Buckingham at our side, we have others at our side, all people who hate and resent their influence. Their power and their status outweigh theirs,"

"Perhaps. But the Riverses abound. You cut one head, another one grows. Look everywhere in England, there is always a blond head everywhere you turn and each and every one of them is a Rivers."

Richard grimaced but couldn't argue. His brother spoke the truth.

* * *

Mary donned her clothes and dipped into the cold waters. She remembered when it was hot waters she bathed in, now she was back into a cell of stone, just like Hatfield, living the humble life. And what was her mother always said? –In suffering I find god? Well, she did not find god here even though it was His house.

She turned away as she gazed at her legs. Two years ago …  
She'd gotten these bruises from Edmund when their bodies had been intertwined, lasting two full nights until she begged him to stop and when he did not, she pushed him away but the force of her push made the two of them fall from the bed and there were several jewels there. She scratched her legs with some of them.

She smiled a sad smile. She would give anything to have these moments back.

* * *

Cecily put her hand on the window of the chamber she shared with her cousins, the princesses Elizabeth and Cecily.

She overlooked at the great abbot leading a silent procession with his follower to one of the hospitals nearby to give alms to the poor. Those dirty urchins had no clue how lucky they were. They would never have to worry about bloodlines, fighting, in-fighting or anything in their lives. Their single worry was to live, they did not know what it felt like to look behind your back and worry about if you were going to wake up the next day or not to a bed full of riches or end up with nothing.

Her father thought that he was doing them a service installing his younger brother a king, because his honor told him so, but as she learned from her namesake and grandmother, Cecily Neville. Honor had nothing to do with power. The crown belonged not to the pure-blooded, the men whose ancestry went far back to the first Plantagenet king; but to the men who were strong enough to take it.

Men who didn't cower at the sight of blood or killing innocents for their cause. Men who were men, self made and self proclaimed kings.

"Would you come and dance with us Ceci?" Arthur asked her giggling like the little naïve boy that he was, and his giggles turned louder when she gave him that fake smile and said "Yes" and took him by his arms and twirled him as their older cousin, the princess Elizabeth, had often done.

The princesses clapped and said that if they were ever restored, that they would look for a good looking husband –and a rich one-the princess Cecily said- for their cousin Cecily to wed who would give her many children for her to take care of enjoy.

Cecily was appalled at the idea of taking care of skin and bones, weak little children like her brother who as of late had done nothing but eat and eat in hopes that he would grow a stomach. But he remained the weak little boy and now, as she put him down and looked at him more closely, she realized why their uncle Richard had not taken them.

The boy was skin and bones. No matter how much they stuffed him, how much their aunt Elizabeth encouraged him to eat he would remain skin and bones.

Arthur gave his sister a kiss to her nose as she gave him one in each cheek. "I love you Ceci, one day I will marry someone as beautiful as you."

The princesses laughed. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves Artie. You will likely marry a foreign royal, a daughter of a noble house. A Valois or a Tratasmara. Remember what your uncle said before he died."

"But I want to marry whoever I want. Our fathers did."

"That was different. There was a war being fought, alliances were not as important as they are now."

"Elizabeth is right cousin. Father said he wanted to marry you some Spanish royal. That would have been a good match." The younger Cecily, queen Elizabeth's second daughter said.

"Why do say would have been? It still could be. I think a Spanish Princess would be a good match for our cousin. Imagine an Infanta though, how uptight she would be. It is said they are very zealous." Elizabeth said and the princesses burst in laughter.

Cecily merely smiled at her and glared at her brother daring him to laugh. He did not.

"Our cousin would own the Spaniard. She would not be a match for him." Young princess Cecily said.

"Oh don't be so sure. The Spaniards have a strong will of their own. They are still fighting their civil war." She leaned forward and called everyone to gather around in a circle as if the head princess had an important secret to tell. "I heard that our father was supposed to marry that ugly mare, Isabel of Castile before he met our mother."

"Oh, awful! No! Can you imagine our father married to a Spaniard?"

"I know!" Elizabeth told her sister and laughed louder and this time her laughter was so contagious and irresistible that Arthur could not help himself and laughed with them.

Cecily was the only one who showed composure, who kept that slight grin on her face while they mocked her mother's ancestors (unknowingly). "The queen of Castile is said to be fearsome and dress in the best fashions." She said.

"Fashion, gold, jewels are nothing but things to make a woman who has never been beautiful feel good about herself. Isabel has never been good looking and imagine how her children must look like."

"They say her youngest daughters are good looking."

"They must take after their father then." Elizabeth told her. She called the servants to bring them bread and wine. "Anyway, why are we here brooding about the Spaniards and their civil war? Let's have some fun, ladies, gentleman," she crooked her finger to Arthur and he giggled as he always did, like the foolish little boy he was, and ran towards Elizabeth.

"Let us feast and celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" The younger Cecily, Elizabeth's sister asked with a furrowed brow.

"Don't be silly, our day of birth of course. Our cousin's Ceci is not in a few months, but while we wait for it, there will be no doubt more news of death of destruction." A flash of anger crossed her face but it soon disappeared as food and drink were brought to their chambers. "So let us celebrate once and for all to me, our brothers, our daughters, and our family that has kept us all united." She said and raised her cup, the others followed.

"Cheers!" The princess, the younger Cecily, said and everyone began to drink and eat.

* * *

"They say the king will set up a court for all the York children, his son, Clarence's son and daughter-"

"Where?" Margaret the Duke of Buckingham. He was her only hope. He alone could hold the key to deposing Richard and setting her son on the throne. All she had to do was agree with everything he said and if he gave himself airs of kingship, she would feed those airs. All that mattered was making alliances, what happened after her son would deal with it once he became king.

"The north at Sheriff Hutton, so the courtiers say, so Richard says."

"And you trust his word?"

"I trust no one. But Richard is a naïve king, ambitious but naïve. He believes his royal blood buys him the loyalty of half his men when in reality half his men would be quick to betray him if the opportunity arose."

"Then let's make it so." Margaret boldly told him. "I know you are not happy about your marriage and the king knows this yet he has not given you the divorce you desire nor appeal to the papal court despite the gold you gave him, the gold that put him in the English throne."

"It was not only I."

"But you were the one that paid the most. You were among the first to recognize he was our true sovereign. You voted in parliament in favor of his resolution to declare the lady Elizabeth and her children bastards."

"Aye, that's true."

"If the king had listened to you none of this would have happened. How many times have you told him to be merciless with his enemies? How many times have you told him to keep a level head and how many times have you reproached his actions? How many times has he listened to you lord Buckingham?"

Henry Stafford opened his mouth but Margaret answered for him. "None."

"The king is not the king unless his people wish him to be. None of his people like him. They all see him for what he is, a Northerner, a naïve and plain Northerner who thinks his royal blood makes him better than the rest of us. Your family fought for the Lancasters in the past, you owe it to them to restore their last heir."

"And who would that be Madame, you? Your son?" He didn't doubt if the lady Stanley were a man she would take the throne and rule with an iron fist but she did not know if to trust her son. After all the boy was a stranger, as good as a foreigner. He had not been in English soil for over twelve years. Twelve years! He probably would be ill received and half of England would rise up against him a they had risen up against the last Lancastrian pretender, Edward of Westminster.

"My son is the true king. He is the one and true king." Margaret repeated. Her voice was filled with such conviction that she almost convinced Henry Stafford of the fact. Almost.

"If he wins Madame. In case you have failed to notice the obvious. Kings are dying like flies."

"And many more will die before the one true king comes into his rightful throne." Margaret responded, her face hardened.

"What is your real intention Madame? Your husband's men botched the princes and the Duke's eldest sons' execution."

"A mistake that will not happen again." Margaret promised. "You were supposed to be constable of the tower, king Richard gave his position to others. He favored others over you."

"One of them your husband."

"My husband is only of the lower commanders, he got passed over in favor of the old nobility. We are all in the same boat here. Question is –will we sink or row together? Will you lead us into victory?"

The Duke's lips twisted into a smile and so it began. The conspiracy to get rid of the last Yorkist threats. And her son would be four steps ahead.

* * *

At last Margaret had her wish, at last she had come into her own, her true self was revealed at last. Her heart wrenched when she heard the Duke's man's retelling of how it all went. But a necessary sacrifice. Her was now only three steps behind the throne instead of seven –as he was before.

September had brought her the good news she had been waiting for ever since Richard had taken the throne and she had start conspiring for his deposing and that of his family.

Their allies were growing by the numbers. Her steward Reginald Bray went everywhere spreading gossip about Margaret and Elizabeth Woodville's promise, the former white queen, to wed their children thus uniting both houses, Lancaster and York.

And Morton, completely an animal of hers, was under house arrest and under the supervision of Buckingham, and Buckingham … He did not know how worthy of his title he was.

Margaret always believed that true merit laid in actions not titles but Buckingham had proved her wrong with that. Albeit blood and ancestry always helped, but she admired more the self-made women and men who did not take things for granted. Who grasped fate and made their own as they went along.

That was why she admired herself and her Henry, because being shunned and mocked at for their "low blood" they had risen higher than any man or woman had ever dreamed of and they did all on account of their wits, not their bodies, not through sorcery.

She could never forgive Elizabeth Woodville for ensnaring the king, for using her body like a common harlot and seduce her way to power. But above all, she would not forget Elizabeth for taking one of her own and making her ally.

But now the wheels were turning and they were spinning in Margaret's favor and her son's.

Poor Richard, unknowing, innocent, he was the greatest victim of all. He trusted Buckingham as he would trust another brother of his, and poor Edmund, that naïve and skilled warrior. That was all he had been –a good soldier, nothing more.

Both men were about to fall prey to their own convictions and naivety.


	18. Chapter 18

**Thanks for your reviews. Keep reviewing. This is a long one. **

**Enjoy.**

* * *

1483

Mary awoke screaming. "What is it?" Shouted Elizabeth and the head of Westminster. When she looked at both, the Abbot was afraid of her look, which he thought was more terrifying than any he had seen on any person.

She kept muttering silent, incoherently, unable to believe what had happened.

After a few minutes where he and the former queen tried to calm her down into silence, the queen asked her. "Tell us what is the matter."

To which she responded incoherently until the queen embraced her and rocked her as if she would rock a child and finally the former Duchess of Rutland replied in a deathly voice.

"They are gone … They are gone…" she said and it was all she kept saying.

And the former queen understood and she ran from the room to her daughters' chambers that they were sharing with her cousins and told them solemnly. "Your brothers, the prince and the rightful king are gone."

"And … my brothers?" Angelique asked quietly poking her head out from under the sheets. She'd been very scared when she heard her mother scream, she feared the worst.

"Gone as well."

Angelique began to cry.

"I won't have you crying. You are a princess of the blood, daughter of a Duke, a son of the noblest house in England, the house of York. I shall not have any of you crying!" Bellowed the former queen.

Elizabeth embraced her youngest cousin Arthur who'd remained silent but joined his sister in crying for their older siblings.

"They can't be dead. They can't be!" Wailed Angelique banging her fists against the bed and her feet flying in the air, up and down and hitting the bed with full force every time he cried. "I want my brothers!"

"I want my brothers!"

"Mommy!"

"Stop it! All of you!" Howled the white queen. "Your brothers are gone, all of your brothers and there is nothing you can do. We must move on and keep our chins up and pretend that none of this happened. There are many who will expect us to fall. We will not give them the satisfaction. We are Riverses, we draw our strength from the river, we have a noble ancestry but most of all we are Yorks and we do not know surrender."

The children bowed their heads and wiped their tears.

"I do not expect all of you to understand, but I do expect that you act as the royals that you are, the royals you were born to be."

Angelique ceased her crying and asked, "Will mama attend the funeral?"

"You know well there will be no funeral Angelique. Your brothers' bodies are gone, hidden away. Nobody knows where they're buried." _Probably buried in some unknown pit like common criminals_ –she thought. "It's better we forget this whole ordeal."

"And do what? Plan for our salvation? Our restitution?" Screamed the princess Elizabeth who was angry at her mother's attitude. Her arms were still around her cousin Arthur. "Your family's ambition has brought us here mother. You have condemned us all. If there is someone responsible for their deaths is you! You and your incessant plotting. You could have bent the knee to Richard and none of this would have happened. He would have accepted us back in his court and we would have been merry again, treated as royals."

"You would have been bastards. Richard would have never accepted you. He would have married you off to some minor lord and see all of your wives to insignificant Baron or Earl at the most."

"It's not true. Uncle Richard cares for us. I know he has sent gifts but you've withheld them from us and you've told Mary to do the same. Why mother?"

"Because they are not worthy of you? Do you think I don't know all your lives would improve if you were sent back to court? If you were given an allowance to live off as princesses? Oh, I know my dears it all seems better to you, but tell me this: would you rather be treated as bastards daughters and sons of a king and former Duke or as the daughters and sons you really are. Princesses and ladies born to greatness, the true heirs of this country and not that usurper and his weakling son!"

She wished that boy would die so her sons would be one step closer to the throne but now that Edward and Richard were gone, there seemed no point. Yet she'd sent the true Richard away. Maybe in time she could call him back and they would rally armies in his name and he would be king. Take the throne in the same fashion as his father did.

Yes, that sounded like a good plan except for one minor problem: credence. Who would believe that the sudden apparition coming from distant lands was really her son? He was being raised as the son of traders, in reality former spies of the Riverses who'd agreed to the whole plot. He would be a stranger to them as much as Margaret's boy Henry Tudor who still gave himself airs to marry her eldest daughter. He probably thought with Richard and Edward gone, he was this close to the English throne. Well not quite. Not quite –Elizabeth thought.

"He is not Richard is he?" Elizabeth asked all of a sudden surprising everyone in the room. The older Cecily's head immediately snapped in her royal cousin's direction. Her eyes wide, alert, never missing a gesture from royal mother and daughter. She listened attentively.

"What makes you say that?" Asked the older Elizabeth.

"It's not Richard. You said so when doctor Lewis came and first interviewed you and Mary. It's not Richard you told him. You knew he'd die, he and Edward would die and you sent another in his place. You sent a poor boy to his death and worse you knew from the start our older prince and heir would die and yet you sent him."

"Because I had no choice!" Elizabeth was annoyed at her daughter's accusation. If she was queen she'd know what it meant. She prayed she never was so she'd never know the sacrifices a mother has to make for her sons, especially a royal one.

"If I told everyone I had a vision of your brother and your cousins being put to the sword do you think everyone would have rushed up to our aid and raised their swords for us?"

"They could have had a chance."

"Their fate was sealed the moment your father died." Elizabeth said in a harsh tone. He should have never chosen Richard as protector –thought she. That man turned out to be the greatest backstabber of all! She should have known he was her true enemy. The lady Stanley was rightly to tell her so. Yet she didn't trust in the lady Stanley completely. There was something about her that didn't feel right and Mary had sensed it as well. –Yet the younger woman refused to tell her what it was that wasn't right.

"You do not believe that. Else you wouldn't have sent us here to this Abbey and guarded Richard zealously from the wolves. You knew and you tried to fight it too. You've always been a fighter mother and so is Mary, she knows and she's refused to send Arthur as well. You are both fighters. You do not believe that fate is written, you know better than that." Said the princess Elizabeth ending with a soft whisper.

Elizabeth Woodville grinned. How easy it would be, she thought, to believe as her daughter did. To believe the things she once believed. She was once as naïve as her young Elizabeth was. She was once as ambitious as Mary was. Her great granddaughter had been strengthened by tragedy and yet she still believed that there was still good in the world, that there was still something worth fighting. She saw it every time doctor Lewis came, she saw the hatred, the determination in her eyes. She was a woman who would not accept defeat, yet she was not willing to act with the same cruelty as her enemies –that, Elizabeth believed- set her back a great deal.

"It did not change a thing. We are all that remain. Whether Richard does live or not, it does not matter. What comes to pass will pass and very soon a new king will sit upon the throne on England."

* * *

"Do you know if they are dead?" Thomas Stanley asked his wife. He was enraged beyond reason. The king had reason to suspect his wife and rightly so. Buckingham's rebellion had cost them more than what they bargained.

September was a black month for not only the king and former queen but everyone. Everyone in England was speculating and Thomas would have liked if they did not. The rumors said that Richard killed his nephews because Buckingham planned to put the former prince Edward, Edward IV's oldest son in the throne and make himself chancellor as well as restoring the Riverses to power. Most in the south didn't believe this and they began whispering amongst themselves that Duke Buckingham had other reasons and that he never intended to have young Edward on the throne at all, but instead was working on his own behalf and killed the boys to set himself on the throne.

Thomas was thankful that was all they said. He would hate to see Margaret linked to these rumors. But the king was another matter. His Grace knew Buckingham. The man was ambitious but he would have never dared to do what he did if someone hadn't instigated him first.

Now it was not only Edward's queen and the former Duchess of Rutland king Richard was worried for, but his reputation. He knew his wife played a part in Stafford's uprising and that the rumors about the princes and the former Duke's children in the tower's disappearance were her doing. –As well as the rumors surrounding their _deaths_.

"Lord Buckingham told me so."

"Did he show you the bodies? A finger, a foot, something?"

"Of course not!" Exclaimed Margaret, a hand to her chest. Appalled that her husband could ask such a thing. Only savages would do that.

She drew very close to him. "The Duke and I agreed it should be done and his man came to me late one night and told me the deed was done. He assured me."

"How?"

She turned away unable to meet his eyes. To this day the man's words haunted her. "He said that he and a couple of others caught them sleeping before Thomas Grey's men arrived, and pressed them in their bed, smothered them with the mattresses. The elder boys put up a fight and the former Duke of Rutland's son and heir took a dagger from underneath his bed and threw it at one of the Duke's soldiers. But then another soldier came from behind and cut his throat. His brother followed."

"How many men were there?"

"Does it matter? The deed is done!"

"How many men Margaret?" He asked again, his voice dangerously low. It forced her to look at him.

"Five." She answered. "I supposed that is all it would need to …" She broke off. She could see their pale faces, the former Duke's boys as they struggled against their captors, armed with courage at seeing their princely cousins smothered, murdered like common criminals. "Buckingham's men." She reminded him –and herself. Washing her hands clean off the act. "Hidden under a stair in the Tower so you tell me. When Henry is proclaimed king, he can discover them there and declare the boys were killed Richard. He can hold a Mass, an official funeral."

"And how do you know that Buckingham has not played you for a fool? How do you know that he has not spirited them away and they are still alive somewhere? What was it you said that the Woodville queen said? He is not Richard?"

"She was obviously lying. A mother's grief, that's all."

"Really? Are you so sure or is it you are scared you have been duped and fooled by a woman you claim is so beneath you?" He let out a cold chuckle, his smile did not reach his eyes. "Let me tell you something Margaret," he started, one of those rare occasions he did use her Christian name. "If this fails not only will you, will _**I**_ lose everything. Your son will lose everything as well. He steps one foot in England he will be killed. His head will be put on Tower Green and his limbs exhibited in every corner in England so they know what happens to traitors. And if he (by some chance) manages to escape death, he will live the rest of his life in Brittany and be known as the beggar king. He will spend his days in shame." He paused and his expression softened but his voice did not. "You better be sure he killed those boys or else your son will always be living under the shadow of a pretender just as Richard is now under your boy."

"They are dead. It is not Richard. The Woodville woman was wrong. They are all dead." Margaret said as her husband turned to leave.

"You better be sure because I'd hate supporting a claimant when he has too many surviving Yorks waiting to strike."

* * *

Mary recovered from her grief after months of praying and standing by the river, hearing its singing. They heard the first official rumor that Richard had killed the boys. She shook her head. Let Elizabeth and the rest of the country believe what they may. She knew the truth. It was not him.

Elizabeth did not believe her until one day they in early October, they received a surprising visit from the man in question himself.

"What are you doing here?" Mary was the first one to ask, seeing Elizabeth's vindictive eyes. She would just have turned him away and Mary was very interested in what he had to say.

"My ladies, sisters." He greeted and not waiting for their permission he pushed Elizabeth aside and entered. It was the dead of night and everyone was asleep.

"I know everything Elizabeth. I know of your curse, and I know about Mary. My god I should have seen it but I know now. The sign in the sky when my brother won the battle after our father was executed was no coincidence. The three suns of York and the flaming crown, I dreamt about it, but I always thought it was nothing but a dream and I rejected what men whispered that day when they came to my mother's home crying of divine providence. You … you came here for a reason." Richard said looking straight into Mary's eyes. They were not the eyes of York but eyes of Tudor, from what he had heard of Tudors, yet everything else from red hair and her fair skin she was a Plantagenet and more importantly a York.

"Why are you really here?" Mary asked again, ignoring the frantic man's declarations. Did Melusine really grant this man a vision? Was it god perhaps? Was the Lord trying to show everyone the light? Was He communicating through her, or, was it both?

"Sisters I made a mistake. I tried to do what was best for England, I believed I was doing the right thing. Elizabeth you must understand. England has been through many civil wars, we've had mad kings, terrible kings, idiot kings, tyrants, everything you can possibly imagine. I could not let England run the same risk if your son was placed on the throne. He would have just been a puppet of your family, you know this better than I."

"He was the rightful king and you stole his title from him to give it to your son."

"Let us speak frankly Elizabeth. You would have never agreed to reign together. You wanted the throne for yourself, you would have found a way to chop my head off as soon as your son was made king."

Elizabeth was about to reply but she closed her mouth. This man spoke the truth and she was infuriated by it. "You are what you are and so am I." She chose to say instead.

Richard grinned. "I will take that as your humblest of apologies." He turned to Mary. "Your husband asked me to give this to you." He thrust a ring into her hand. "You had this with you when you arrived. He considers it a blessing and so do I."

She smirked. How could she after all, of this she didn't know but she did. "My father always believed that this was a curse. He believed that my birth was his greatest curse and that as long as I lived I would always be a threat. It seems no matter where I land I am both a curse and threat."_ To all Tudors _–she wanted to say but she could not. Deep in her core, there was that loyalty she still felt she owed to her forefathers and mothers, but she found it was diminishing day by day. She prayed it would be dead soon so she would act against them. All of them.

"I can't make you change your minds but my actions speak clearly. I had declared your children bastards Elizabeth, why would I kill them, and the same goes for you my lady or should I say niece? Why would I kill my landless and title-less nephews? I was going to give them earldoms, titles. What point would there have been in killing them?"

"Why are you really here Richard? What do you hope to accomplish here, Your Grace? Do you think you can buy us with cheap tricks of sentimentalism?" Mary asked.

"No, you are both smarter than that. But Mary, you and I both know it was not I that killed your nephews but I have suffered a lot for your suspicion." His gaze shifted to Elizabeth. "My left arm trembles every day I try to take my sword and my back ails me every day. I know it's your doing my lady and I could have my officers escort you to the Tower right now or to a tribunal and try you for witchcraft but I've chosen not to."

"Why?" Elizabeth inquired, not showing any emotion. On her guard as always.

"Because I want you both to come to court, I want your daughters and son to come."

"Out of the question."

"Elizabeth-"

"I cannot believe that you, you of all people who had more to gain from their deaths, lost them all of a sudden and now claims you had nothing to do with it."

"Believe what you shall my lady but it's the truth and the more you deny it the more you become the tool of our true enemies." Richard declared and he knew he'd strung a high chord here but he smiled when Elizabeth turned and rebuked him, crying she was slave to no one and she was her own mistress and only because of her children and they had been so bored in this Abbey, would she do it.

He chuckled after she left at his own success and turned to Mary. This red haired witch whom he thought was one of the most manipulative and dangerous women turned the complete opposite. Her eyes were still hard and unforgiving but her voice had softened. "Do you really believe we can defeat all our enemies?"

"I do not know. Where you come from we obviously didn't."

"How do you know that?"

"I do not need the magic of your ancestress to know. I have my eyes and your appearance suffices me and I did not lie about the dream. Since Elizabeth cursed me, I decided to keep our remaining family closer."

"What will happen to the lady Stanley?"

"She will be under house arrest and her husband under close surveillance. Her lands will be in his power."

"You think that will make him more loyal?"

"It should. He would be a fool to support Tudor or his wife now. His wife is after all a heiress in her own right but with all her lands and money now in his power and her son's as well, he's become one of the richest men in England. That makes him dangerous but also dependant. His success depends now solely on the crown. I fall, he falls. Stanley might have airs of being the next king's stepfather but he'd have to be a fool to risk it all for a wife who's lost everything and I've been talking with the Duke of Brittany and the king of France to send that usurper here."

"He's committed no crime. You should show him clemency. If you've seen what you claim you did in you dream, you know about my short reign and that part of my faults lay in my iron fist."

"I have flashes, not much has been shown but what has been shown has been enough. I think your real faults lie in being too merciful."

"How is that so? I killed my own cousin."

"You killed a threat. If you had let her live, suppose you did, would she have been loyal? Would she had danced at your tune?"

"She would have in time." Mary said, hesitating to answer. Richard read her hesitation and shook his head replying, "She would never have. Her family would have kept plotting and plotting until your head was crownless and you were headless. That is the way of kings niece."

"Good think I am not meant for queenship anymore then. What do you propose then to the Duke and king? You must give them an incentive, something to convince them to hand over your rival."

"I have given them incentives." Confirmed Richard, not telling her what, "They said they'd reconsider."

"What if they don't hand Henry over?"

"They will." Richard said gruffly. "It's either that or war and nobody wants another war against France on their shoulders. No matter what I will have Henry in England." Promised Richard.

"It will either be him or me but by the end of the year I will have him here."

And the months passed and Richard could not manage to bribe the king of France and Duke of Brittany to hand the Earl of Richmond over.

In the end, Elizabeth ended up accepting Richard's invitation after Mary had convinced her. She stood by the lake one more time before going to the carriage, listening to the water goddess' singing telling her of future events to come. Mary's tears had all dried up since she realized her sons were gone and she would never see them in this life but it brought her comfort knowing through _her_ singing that when she died she'd be reunited with them in heaven.

* * *

The journey was not a long one. Mary could hardly feel the cold. She and Elizabeth were quickly accepted in court thanks to their daughters' beauty and charm they inherited from their mothers.

Cecily, her eldest daughter, became one of queen Anne's ladies in waiting along with her eldest cousin. Mary refused to bow her head low to her but she did openly acknowledge her as the queen by calling her by her proper title of 'Your Grace'.

She and Edmund had been reunited shortly after her arrival. At first there had been no words but when Edmund saw their youngest son silently approach him, he broke into tears and embraced his son. _"How you've grown. My jewel, my precious jewel." _He cried over and over and it was impossible for her not to be disarmed by this scene. She made her way to him and wrapped her arm around them. After that, she and Edmund began talking and he explained to her his reasons for doing what he did and she told him everything, from her dreams, to what she and Elizabeth had gone through, during their time in Sanctuary.

"I am sorry." He said. "I know it's been hard on you –"

"No you don't." She interrupted him. "Those months not knowing if you died, if Richard had replaced you, if you were not my husband, if it was you or some impostor sending you letters were hard on me Edmund."

"I kn- I understand Mary."

"I really thought you were dead." She showed him the ring in her middle finger on her right hand. "When Richard gave me this ring I knew you were alive and just today seeing you and Arthur, made me realize the pain you must have felt. The same pain I felt when … when they told me our sons disappeared." She looked away trying to suppress her tears but she failed and began sobbing.

Her boys, her poor little boys. Her last words to Edmund had been to tuck in his chemise, brush his hair and say his nightly prayers and stop thinking about girls –mainly his cousin Elizabeth whom Mary knew he fancied. And John, he had been that light at the tunnel after she had her first miscarriage. She remembered the joy she felt holding him, Edmund kissing his brow, declaring him a York prince even though he'd never be. He was beautiful, reddish brown hair, blue eyes, fair skin.

"They did not deserve to die." She managed to say. "They were just boys, two innocent boys who had nothing to do with these conflict. They didn't ask …" Her voice was lost again.

Edmund came to her side, knelt before her and turned her head to look down on him, cupping her chin with his fingers.

"We will kill them all." He said and brought her down from her chair and kissed her brow. "Our sons' deaths will not be for nothing." He said and wrapped his arms around her.

He didn't know how long he held her but by the time she stopped crying he looked down on her and he swore he could have seen the look of vengeance in her eyes, but it quickly vanished.

* * *

A savage wind blew Henry Tudor's ships off course and forced him to sail back from Brittany. A witch's wind they called it. They could have sworn they heard in the waves the laughter of a woman and the promise of death if they ever tried to land again.

Henry Tudor did not listen to these superstitions. His mother's kinsman by marriage, Buckingham was executed and good riddance. He would have been a pebble in his shoe if he ever came to the throne. He would have just looked out for himself and who knew if he would have been loyal, if he wouldn't have tried to take the throne for himself as he did.

He returned to Brittany a fallen hero with nothing to show but failure but he would return. He promised.


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank for your review. Sources listed in previous chapter. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

1483-1484

Richard was scared. He could feel his wife slipping more every day. He ordered every window in the palace closed so she would not feel the December winds but her health was still failing.

She said she was strong but he knew her better. His mistress told him that she could die at any moment and then what? The future of his dynasty, the York dynasty, would be in the hands of his son Edward who also shared his mother's weak constitution.

She was right. But who could he wed? And would he wed again? His and Anne was not a match made for duty or love. He loved Anne and he cared for her but he could never love her the way she loved him.

When she came to him, she was desperate. Her sister had shunned her and her brother being the coward that he was, wanted nothing to do with her. They cast her out into the streets and she had nowhere else to go but Richard. He had been her salvation and she considered herself a good wife for given him his heart's desire a son. After he was born, Edward had returned part of her inheritance. Her duty as far as they were concerned was done.

But not his. He wished he could place John in the line of succession but he would just be upsetting the natural order as Edward had done when he married Elizabeth.

No. He had to look to the future of England and his dynasty.

The failure of Buckingham's rebellion was clearly not the end of the plots. Tudor still lived and his mother –although placed under house arrest- would never stop plotting until she or her son were dead.

* * *

"_Where are we going?"_

"_To the king."_

"_He is not a king any longer. Haven't you heard the news from Bosworth mother? The true king has won." _

Mary woke up. She took her eldest daughter Cecily; it was time to get her away from her namesake's influence. "Where are you taking me?"

"Cut this thread."

"Why?"

"Just cut it." Mary ordered, annoyed at her daughter's imprudence. Cecily obeyed. Mary took the spider's thread from her and cut it with her metal scissors she had inherited from Jacquetta.

The woman had known her more than her own mother and now she was dead. She had no mother and no sisters. Her only blood sister had betrayed her. The Tudors and the Lancasters had been a curse on her –a curse Jacquetta said she would reverse on them when the time came.

Was that time now?

"What was that?"

"That is the children you will never have, people you will never see, my future that you will never see." Mary said prophetically.

"And this?" Cecily asked holding the remaining threads. Mary slapped her hands away from them.

"You don't touch them like that. You tie the one you've cut, see? And then tie it to the others then you cut them and this foot" she showed her a small branch of a tree. Jacquetta's branch had been shorter but she said Mary was special. Her fate was special. It required a larger branch and a longer one. Strong, she said. _Strong and resistant to withstand all the winds of change_.

"You wrap the threads around it and dump it on the river. Now pull the string." She ordered and her daughter obeyed again.

"How long must this go on? Mother-" But her mother had disappeared. Like the old crone Jacquetta had become now this was Mary's role. A wise woman, she had seen their fortunes on the river and the river had sent her fortunes whenever she was far from it.

Now it was her daughter's turn.

"Do it every day, every night for seven days straight, rest two weeks then do it again until … you will see." Mary said reappearing behind her. She smiled at her daughter as she followed her instructions pulling the string back from the water.

She had seen. Mary knew she had. Every time Cecily would stop during their daily walks in the garden, accompanying her aunt, the former queen Elizabeth and her daughters, Mary would turn and watch as her expression turned to one of horror.

Cecily had always been serious. She never liked being told what to do but like any good daughter of the house of York, she knew when to follow and when to question her elders.

She returned to her husband's bed and wrapped her arms around his waist. She laughed silently sensing a bump in Edmund's stomach. They had fed him well. She told him so the following morning, berating him for his good food while she had only soup and bread.

"Well I did send you money and a bag full of gold every morning." He told her. "Didn't you get it?"

"Edmund we were being cloistered, we were in a battlefield. Every morning was the same, we didn't know if it was a trap or not."

"Love, if I wanted you dead do you think I would have sent a bag of gold to kill you?" He asked her cocking his head and grinning at her.

Mary smiled and shook her head dismissing the thought. "No, it's not that. But we were really worried Edmund and the girls worried after you. You should have seen Angelique, she begged me daily to look into the water just to see if you were safe."

"Ancestress Melusine telling your fortunes now?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Be careful Mary, there are many who still wish your downfall and they know you are a staunch Yorkist, more so than the queen, my brother's former wife who changed sides just as quickly as he found her by the road." The golden strumpet they called her. He didn't know why Edward would ever fall for a woman like that. But who was he to question when he himself had fallen for another strumpet by the road?

Though he would hardly call Mary a strumpet. She was twice the woman his mother was and twice the woman his brother's woman was.

She embodied the best of the human race.

"Lady Elizabeth is still the queen and people can say what they say about me. I have been through enough pain to be called bastard, urchin, devil's mistress that nothing hurts me anymore." She said to Edmund and he smiled in return.

"It's good to have you back, my lady." He told her and leaned forward and kissed her.

Their younger children made disgusting sounds and excused themselves from the table. "Gross. You'd think they'd wait until it was nightfall." They said.

"By the way." Edmund said pulling his lips away from hers. "Where is our daughter, Cecily?"

"She is out riding."

"But it's late."

"Do not worry my lord husband, she can take care of herself and remember who she is granddaughter of." She told him and he chortled remembering his mother's daily reproach for refusing to force Mary to give up Cecily so she could have her.

"I would say she has more of you than mother. My mother was never this lovely." Edmund said taking his wife's lips again and claiming her mouth.

He took her in his arms and carried bridal style to their bedchamber where he claimed her again and again until they both fell asleep from exhaustion.

Cecily returned to her chambers and took out the golden ring she'd gotten from the river.

So this was to be her fortune then. Thought she looking at the ring in the form of a crown, but unlike her aunt Elizabeht's it had two roses, one on top of the other and encrusted at its center were four rubies.

"This is my destiny." She told herself, speaking so low so none of her sisters would wake. She put the ring on her middle finger and immediately saw the first vision of herself sitting on a golden throne with white lilies instead of yellow and beneath here were the flowers of York and Lancaster, all joined together into one new and distinctive breed. Tudor.

* * *

"Elizabeth, sister, come Cecily wants to bore us with another lecture."

"Cecily don't refer to your cousin as boring." The former queen lightly chided though a secretive smile crossed her face that both her daughters saw. They giggled.

Cecily ignored their laughter and ordered her cup filled.

"What do you think Cecily? Do you think Uncle Richard will really wed you to a foreign royal?" The younger Cecily asked her.

"I don't know. I suppose those are his intentions but if he should wed anyone it should be the royal daughters of the house of York and not the daughter of a common duchess and a former one at that." She added quickly before any of her royal relations replied.

"Well, be that as it may, you are of royal descent and most importantly a descendant of the river goddess, Melusine." Elizabeth the former queen said. Daring her to say something, she did not so she continued. "Nothing can beat that."

Her eldest daughters who knew, especially her eldest, the former princess Elizabeth, who knew the truth surrounding their aunt Mary, nodded their heads in agreement.

"What if the king has another son, or, a daughter?" Her youngest niece asked, she was seated across Cecily, next to the former queen.

"If he has a girl he will look to her for alliances." Angelique added.

"Who told you that?" Asked her aunt, laughing at the notion, "Lady Anne Neville is weak and she's unlikely to give our king anymore children."

"The king will be looking for a bride soon then." Said her oldest daughter.

"I wonder who that will be." Said the younger Cecily, cupping her chin with her fingers. "Maybe that Savoy girl father rejected. I heard he's looking to a French alliance."

"Savoy although a vassal of France is independent."

"Since when?" Cecily asked her mother.

"Since the French and the Savoyards disagreed over something. You should know by now Cecily alliances always shift. They are never a sure thing."

"So is fate." The older Cecily said causing little surprise. She said very little and when it did, it was to prove a point. Like her namesake she was a woman of few words but when she spoke, her words carried great weight.

"Fate is inexorable. Like the winds it shifts to one side, it shifts to another but sometimes it does not. Sometimes the paths forged by the choices we make, make our fate inexorable."

"Is that why you and aunt Mary hid us in Westminster because our fates were sealed?" Her younger daughter, princess Katherine, asked.

"Yes, we did but you must remember it was me who hid you first. Your aunt Mary being the other smart woman in this family, decided to follow my wise council." Said the older Elizabeth with a smile, everyone chuckled except for Cecily who gave her aunt a short smile before resuming her dinner.

"Mother," She asked that same night but her mother would not have her. She told her to return to the river so her fortune would be revealed. Cecily felt no need and her mother was playing with things that would only get her and their family killed but like any good daughter of York, she obeyed her and returned by the river.

This time as she waited and waited until she saw it fit to pull the string attached to the branch back from the river, her eyes caught something. A strange branch, a smaller one that had been caught by hers.

She wanted to show it to her mother so she would help her interpret it but she knew her mother. At this time of night, she and her father would be busy making love and behaving like a pair of lovesick teens after their first night.

She sighed and took it with her.

She brushed her long auburn hair and took a good look at herself. It was the first time that she ever paid attention to her image.

Reddish-brown. Her hair had never been special. Half the other Plantagenets had hair of that color but her grandmother Cecily always spoke of her with reverence, saying her hair was special and that she was more beautiful than the other girls at court.

_Strange _–she thought. _I never considered myself beautiful. _Beauty was a sin. Vanity was a sin. But she had seen the results and how well they worked for her mother and her aunt who'd used their beauty as their weapon to ensnare the king of England and the Duke of Rutland, her father, and trap them in their web.

"Must it be my weapon too?" She thought aloud. Her eyes traveled to the branch she'd caught by the river and the answer seemed to come almost at once as she stared at it for a second time.

* * *

"Mary, sister. A word if you please." Mary excused herself from her ladies and went to join Richard.

"Yes, Your Grace?" She forced herself to say his title without prejudice but Richard saw through her.

"Your daughter Cecily has not yet been betrothed. I sent my page two weeks ago to inform you of George Neville's proposal. You did not send him or me any reply, why?"

"Your Grace … Richard … my daughter, who she marries or not is my business and if you wish to betroth George Neville to someone, betroth him to Elizabeth, she is your niece by blood and marriage and her blood through her mother is nobler than my Cecily's. She would make a finer bride."

"I have thought about that." He confessed, not ignoring her statement of the marriage concerning her late brother and the lady Elizabeth. "But lady Elizabeth is not my trueborn niece and the Duke is very interested in your daughter."

"I don't doubt he is but the answer is still no." Mary said curtly. "Do you love your son, Your Grace?"

"Of course I do."

"Then what would you do if someone asked you. No. Ordered you to marry him to someone you know he will be unhappy?"

"I would not accept it but if it was for the good of my family I would stand by it." They stopped. He turned and faced her. "Your daughter doesn't have much of a choice Madame. She is the king's niece and daughters are always needed to make alliances and George Neville is her cousin."

"He is also Elizabeth's cousin, wed him to her or to the other Cecily. I don't want him wed to her, my daughter is too young, she is only-"

"Eight and ten," Interrupted Richard, his tone calm, "A perfect age for any girl to marry. You should feel honored I am handing you this honor. There are many who have advised me against it but I chose not to listen to them and instead place the welfare of my family first."

Mary pursed her lips.

"As the heir of the Warwick title, I decided to give that title to my nephew Edward instead, but George Neville will have lands and money and your daughter will be well provided and her sons after her will be well provided as well."

"And what about her titles? Does she get to be a simple lady, mistress or will you give her a respectable title according her station?" Mary inquired, her eyes narrowed.

"That is up to Sir George. When we defeat the would be pretender, Henry Tudor and I can promise you it will not be for long, I swear to you I shall give him the title that once belonged to the Beauforts. He will be Duke of Somerset and your daughter will be a happy Duchess, Madame."

"Does that sit well with you?" He asked afterwards.

"Perhaps …there is still the small matter of my husband's title."

"I cannot do that."

"Why not?" Mary asked crossly. "My husband has been loyal to all Yorks. He is a son of York, the title was given to him by the last Lancaster king and was elevated to Duke by your late brother. He's fought every battle for you, he's even put the crown ahead of his own family. What more proof of his loyalty do you need?

"I need everything. Henry Tudor and what remains of the Lancaster forces plot our demise, they could be marching now against us as we speak. I need to defeat them, I will not rest until every one of them is defeated. I owe it to my father, to you, to everyone. To England. Do you know what they will do when they march to England? They will rape, pillage and murder every civilian to achieve their goal. Henry Tudor will stop at nothing until all of England is engulfed in flames. For him it's all or nothing."

"I am no stranger to the ways of kingship, Your Grace. I might have been raised on a farm but I know how the world works."

"Then you know I need every man. This war is not just about York or Lancaster; it's about putting an end to bloodshed."

"And then what? Peace and justice?" Mary asked with laughter spreading her arm as if to emphasize her point. "There can never be peace and justice. As long as there are claimants to the throne you will always live in danger of being deposed." Mary pointed out. Richard was about to speak but Mary interrupted adding another point. "I am no fool Your Grace, I know why you are marrying Cecily to George Neville and why you didn't chose Elizabeth instead." She looked to her right.

The former queen and her daughter approached with her eldest daughter, Cecily behind them holding Angelique's hand.

The former queen's smile brightened as she saw Mary. "Your Grace." She and the girls bowed to Richard whose smile was bigger than usual. Mary followed his eyes' direction.

"Lady Elizabeth and my niece Elizabeth, you seem to grow more beautiful every day." Elizabeth looked away, seemingly abashed, her cheeks flushed.

"I was telling my daughter, Your Grace, how she needs new gowns. If it is not too much to ask."

Richard shook his head. "Of course not. Ask whatever you like. This is your new home. I will tell the queen's ladies to take your measurements."

"I will be joining her household?" the younger Elizabeth asked with excitement shifting her eyes to Richard.

"Yes, and you will be welcome too my ladies." He said shifting his gaze to his younger nieces, the older Cecily and Angelique.

Angelique squealed and joined her cousin Elizabeth in her excitement. Cecily gave a curt nod and showed a discreet smile. "Thank you, Your Grace." She said then curtsied to him as he passed by them.

"How far we've come you and I." Elizabeth said echoing her mother's words. "The wheel of fortune rises and we rise with it. They said we were finished after Edward but here we are." The former queen smirked and her eyes gleamed with ambition as she looked at Mary. "We will be the first family in England again."


	20. Chapter 20

**Thanks for all your reviews. Keep reviewing. Inspired by the white queen, thanks to Vader's mistress for posting the links.  
**

**Sources listed in previous chapters.**

* * *

1484

"My lord." Mary bowed before Sir George Neville. He was a small young man with dark hair like his long relation, the late Earl of Warwick.

He bowed before her and she gestured to her daughter Cecily to come forward to meet her betrothed. "My lord." She said with a great smile.

"My lady." He greeted.

The meeting had gone better than he'd hoped. George and his niece had hit off from the start. They talked constantly and Cecily was a good actress, she did not have to pretend to like him, the girl was beautiful and like the women in their family, beauty was her weapon but in the case of George Neville, she did not have to use it. Her smile alone was enough to disarm him.

"I have been told by your mother you read extensively." George commented as they sat together at the high table. She nodded saying a small "Yes."

"What kind of books do you like to read? My lady mother may god rest her soul, used to love the classics, she would have my nurse read to me all the time. I don't suppose you let your nurse read to you?" He asked. He had been told that the lady Cecily was willful but he didn't see any of that in her. She was quite pleasant to be around with. In fact, more so than her eldest cousin, the former princess, the now lady Elizabeth Plantagenet.

"My lady mother read to me every night but I had no better teacher than my lady grandmother, the noble Duchess Cecily of house York." She said, saying her grandmother's name and title with deep reverence. Cecily Plantagenet nee Neville seated next to her favorite granddaughter smiled at her and tapped her shoulder. "Yes my lady?"

"Tell our young lord how you alone translated three full works in only two nights."

George Neville's eyes became wide like two saucers. "You h-have?" He stuttered. His stutter made some of his betrothed's younger cousins and siblings laugh. The older Cecily turned to them and gave them a glare; they were silent at once.

"Yes, my lady granddaughter has many aptitudes, even Richard's queen has remarked upon it. Have you not, Your Grace?"

"Yes, you would be very fortunate indeed. Show her your Latin, Cecily." Said the pale queen who seemed to grow paler to all those present.

Cecily did as she was told and recited all the words she knew from her favorite books in Latin. It did not take her long to finish, she spoke so fast and yet her tone was so graceful that it seemed like an eternity. An eternity that he wanted to continue hearing but like with all good things; it came to an end.

"Splendid work my lady." Said George Neville, still entranced. He turned to the older Cecily, the Duchess Dowager. "My lady Duchess you have done a marvelous work raising your granddaughter."

"I have, she is my only granddaughter, the only proud daughter of house York left." Said the Duchess shifting her eyes to the former Duchess, the commoner urchin her son had married.

Mary did not miss the jive but chose to ignore it. "My son are you well?" She asked Arthur who ate his plums very slowly. He was not feeling hungry today. She touched his forehead but his temperature was normal. "Arthur, what's wrong?" She asked softly, lowering her voice so only they heard.

"Mother, I've had a seeing."

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"My grandmother sent me one. She says I will know loss." His eyes fell on his plate and quickly resumed his eating, His appetite suddenly returned.

"Arthur," his mother spoke again but he would not turn. "Who was this woman you said you saw? Was it your lady grandmother, the lady Duchess?"

"No mother, it was my other grandmother." He revealed saying before she could utter her true mother's name, "Jacquetta Rivers."

"Jacquetta? Mother Jacquetta?"

"Yes." Arthur said and Mary felt stupid.

Of course who else but Mother Jacquetta? Was there any other Jacquetta in England?

She asked her son again: "Mother Jacquetta, are you certain?" He nodded, keeping his eyes glued to his plate.

"What did she say?" Arthur blinked. Could he tell her? He chose not to, he took a mouthful of bread and stuck it in his mouth, spitting some of the bread's seeds as he chewed with his mouth open.

"Arthur, stopped doing that." Arthur shot a mouthful of bread back in his place. "Arthur," she hissed clutching his arm, "what did she say?" Arthur wrenched his arm free of his mother's grip.

"Arthur!" She raised her voice and several heads turned in their direction. "What did she say?"

"I …" he stopped and turned to his father, who had just come into the room laughing with the king as they sat at the center of the table. He had never felt more relieved to see his father. "Father!" He ran straight into his arms.

Richard laughed silently and turned his eyes away.

The Duchess Dowager Cecily showed disgust at the lack of decorum in her youngest grandson. Even Richard's weak son and heir to the throne showed some manners. But what else could she expect from the son of a common strumpet.

"What's wrong son, you look as if my presence is a blessing." Edmund asked taking his son in his arms and placing him in the empty chair next to him, so he would sit between him and his uncle. Mary sat at his left but she did not look at him, instead her eyes were focused on their son.

"I was just worried you would not come, father." Arthur said in earnest then wrapped his arms around his father's growing waistline.

"Ah, how I missed you too. But tomorrow I promise I will spend all day with you. Just me and you." Edmund said shifting his eyes to Richard as if asking to excuse him for the day. Richard showed no objection and gave his older brother a curt nod. "What do you say to that?"

"I say I like it. I like it very much." Arthur declared giggling. Father and son conversed happily about their plans for the following morning while Mary kept her eyes focused on her son.

Jacquetta told her the seeing only came to girls but there were exceptions added to the rule –she had also said. She moved her eyes and they landed on Cecily who was feigning such sweetness that Mary almost believed her. _Almost._

* * *

Elizabeth continued to charm her uncle's court. Suddenly the former queen's plans were beginning to turn and as with all of her line, they began to see to a new future.

The wheel of fortune rises and we must rise with it –was the Woodville's common saying and why not? When another one of their own was charming another Yorkist king?

The king was still young, his arm often hurt him, and he said he was cursed but no one paid any heed to his declarations. Those who did were proud Lancastrians and like all Lancastrians, they were all too willing to believe anything that harmed their enemy's reputation.

He could still father more children and with a weakling son and an ailing wife, he would have to look elsewhere –and soon- to father another legitimate son to secure the York dynasty, once and for all.

* * *

The king nominated de la Pole as his heir in case he or his only legitimate son died without issue. "De la Pole of all people." Murmured Elizabeth to her sister in law. "He could have chosen better. He's been very calculating until now."

"De la Pole is a wise choice. He has noble and royal blood and he is a loyal York." Mary said trying to ignore the stares they got from many of the highborn ladies as they walked the halls of Westminster.

Most of them had been speculating that once the queen died, the king would marry his niece. _"An abomination!"_

"_He is her uncle!" –_They cried.

And after that, Elizabeth and Mary like two wicked crones would scheme to place their daughters once more in the seat of power by marrying them to minor foreign royals or worse, to the most powerful men (or their heirs) in England.

It was not unheard of. They knew Elizabeth, the former queen, had tried that when she had been married to Edward. And now she had more family, more girls that needed to be married. Mary was still fertile and many were beginning to pray that the former Duchess would not give the king's older brother another daughter.

* * *

During all the winter of last year and the spring of this present year Margaret meditated on her wrongdoing. Where did she fail? Was it Henry? Did she bet on the wrong horse? Was that it?

No that could not be it, he was the king, that once and future king. She was sure of it. She had seen it in a vision.

Her god would not lie to her.

Imprisoned and trapped she had resorted to more prayer and finally one day when her knees' pain became stronger than her devotion for god, she stood up and asked what was the reason for her lady's interruption of her morning prayers.

The girl gave her a letter that she said was from her husband's personal messenger. The one he had allowed her to keep, so she could keep sending messages to her brother in law, Jasper Tudor who was still in Brittany along with her son.

She dismissed the younger woman and tore the seal, and began reading.

_King Richard and Elizabeth Woodville as you must be aware are on friendly terms now but not only that, they have come to a new accord …_

_What? _Margaret wondered although deep down she knew the answer and it made her stomach lurch when she read on.

_Richard has sworn that she and her daughters will enjoy higher positions. They are now the high ladies of Richard's queen, if such a position ever existed. Richard has made sure it does under his regime. But that is not all. Next year after her daughters and the former Duchess' become accustomed to court life, he plans to send Elizabeth Woodville into the keeping of John Nesfield to live in his manor at Heytesbury in Wiltshire, while her daughters remain at court with their cousins.  
He knows of your son's betrothal to the lady Elizabeth of York and more so of your other plans regarding the former Duchess' oldest daughter, lady Cecily Plantagenet._

_~Jasper T._

Margaret was so irritated by the letter that she could not pray for the rest of the day.

Damn them! So the little witches now charm their uncle's court. But if she knew one thing about the turncoat Woodvilles was that they would turn their coats again. Once her son was on the throne, she promised she would make the lady Elizabeth of York marry her son and if the rumors surrounding her and Richard were true, then good riddance she had another York girl in the form of her cousin, lady Cecily Plantagenet whose parents' marriage unlike her older cousin, was never declared invalid.

There were always options. Margaret knew. She, her cousin, they were all expendable. If one did not satisfy her, the other would. But one way or another her son would marry into York, thus uniting both houses and accomplishing Margaret's life-long dream of seeing her house, the house of Lancaster back in the throne of England with York at its feet.

* * *

Anne sighed at her new charges. So far the oldest of the girls, while she continued to charm the court, was the less adept to running a household. She knew how, but she showed no willingness to. Her younger sisters, the former princesses in contrast did. And the former Duchess of Rutland's daughters were only too eager to please save for her eldest daughter, lady Cecily but hardly anyone paid her any heed since she was officially betrothed to Sir George Neville.

She held her scissors and told her youngest lady, Angelique to cut the loose thread hanging from long sleeve. "You should know by now. A daughter of the house of York must look her best. Your uncle wants to introduce you to new people. People your aunt, the lady Elizabeth approves."

"Who are these people? Are they nice?" Angelique asked, keeping her gaze down. Her mother had told her that they were for Richard now and since she'd been placed in the new queen's household, for over a year now, she had to act like she liked her. But it was hard when rumors abounded that her husband had killed her siblings.

"There we are." Queen Anne slapped her niece's back and made her spin, gazing at her up and down as if assessing a new piece of jewelry . "The new men of court are nice." She answered her. "But you must guard yourself against them. A little caution will spare you a lot of trouble along the road, but you must still smile. Remember everyone will be watching." Anne reminded her.

She helped her maids do her hair which was let loose. Streaks of gold had begun to appear. Her hair was becoming lighter and that was a good thing. She looked more like an angel day after day and like the rest of her siblings and royal cousins, one day she too would charm the entire court. –_And perhaps England_. Anne thought.

If she was a Woodville Anne would have no doubt she would.

"Go on." She told her and Angelique departed but not before curtsying to her mistress, with her two maids following her.

The rest of her siblings stayed and were occupied reading the queen's new translations and tending to their knitting and their other household duties. The oldest of them, Cecily, the former Duke of Rutland's daughter, chose to hide what she was doing. She had cut her mother's book of hours' prayer book cover and put it on top of one of her new books that her betrothed had given her.

Uncle Richard encouraged the behavior saying it was high time that she showed some of that excitement from which the York boys were very known for._ Funny_, thought she, _when he hardly shows any excitement. Except when he is with my cousin Elizabeth_.

She turned the page and began reading the next act of Sophocles' play. She never liked the Roman plays, to her they were nothing but cheap imitation of the Greeks. How sad, she thought. In the end all the heroes in these plays died. She placed her book down and asked the queen's permission if she could be excused.

Anne Neville saw no reason for it, and nodded. "Of course, take your time lady Cecily." She and the Duchess Dowager were very fond of Cecily Plantagenet. She was a girl who knew how to hide her emotions and she had turned very pleasant as of late since her betrothal to George Neville was announced. Unbeknownst to them, that someone out there was still plotting to put either one of the daughters of the house of York on the throne, as her son's consort.

* * *

The court remained at Westminster, deeming it too dangerous to be in any other place and the royal family spent their Christmas there. The gossip in England was that Richard has put on as great a show as his brother ever did. There is music, plays, clothes, masques, fettes, everything that the court had enjoyed with their previous York king. Everyone is merry and his relations are no exception.

One dance and Elizabeth of York has everyone at court eating from her fingers. Her mother has moved to Heytesbury, sooner than anticipated but Mary remained and with that the former queen left with a clear conscience, knowing that her sister in law and great granddaughter would protect her daughter and their entire family as best as she could because unlike the rest, Elizabeth recognized in her descendant the spirit of a warrior. A spirit that unbeknownst to them had been inherited by her oldest and youngest daughters, Cecily and Angelique.

* * *

"Mother." Catherine and Mary, her middle daughters, said jointly.

"Yes, my sweethearts?" She asked turning from the window. Her daughter had gone to the river again. _The last time she will_. She knew it. She could feel it in her bones, the goddess Melusine had cast her daughter's fortune in the river and now it would be up to her to make it true.

"Is everything alright? Cat and I are worried about you. You haven't torn your gaze from the window ever since we came back. We want to know what ails you?"

"Me worried?" Mary pretended to be baffled but her smile wavered as young Mary's brow creased with brow, her older sister Catherine in contrast narrowed her eyes in a way that reminded Mary of her namesake, her true grandmother, Catherine of Aragon, her father's first wife and true queen.

"Wh-why do you say that?"

"Because you are staring at the window and because you have been worried ever since we've came out from our cloister at Westminster Abbey." Catherine answered, she was the more vocal of the two.

Mary remembered when it used to be the reverse. Young Mary was always vocal, not afraid to speak up when she thought it right but the years of being cloistered and being told her brothers had disappeared and were likely dead along with her royal cousins, the other boys accompanying them in the Tower, had scarred her. In contrast, it had strengthen Catherine. Catherine, who Mary believed, had also inherited her abilities. Abilities she wished she could teach her as she taught Cecily but one daughter was already enough.

"Nothing is wrong with me my sweet children. I am just tired that is all. I haven't had a good night sleep since we got here, but I am not worried because we are from the house of York and we are the suns in splendor."

"How do you know?" Catherine asked looking her mother straight in the eye. Her hair had turned lighter, almost golden like the Riverses, while her eyes continued to be a dark grey as Mary's. In contrast her sister possessed all of Mary's physical traits except for her eyes which were light blue as her father's.

"The Tudor pretender, word has it, is moving against us. He will be here any day now. And people are beginning to talk that the queen's sudden illness is no coincidence." She paused and pursed her lips then resumed. "Do you foresee him winning mother? Do you think he can?"

"Why do you ask me that? I do not know the future any more than you do, only god knows it and all our fortunes rest with Him."

"But do you think he can win?" Catherine asked again, her patience thinning.

Mary made a gesture with her hand as if to say it was not important. What would be would be, all that mattered was that they survived. England did not deserve what either house was doing to it; the wars that were being fought Mary could see them now were nothing more than for power. There was no honor or glory.

The last true York king had died with Edward and, Mary feared, very soon another would sit in his place.

She dismissed her daughters after she grew tired of Catherine's incessant probing, she however would not leave until she got the answers she wanted.

"What do you want me to say Cat? I can't tell the future, in spite of what you have heard, I don't have the sight. Your aunt and I are all that you hear, common women with common abilities, nothing more." Mary said tiredly, rubbing her temple and resting her other hand on her lap.

_I don't believe you_, her daughter's eyes said but opted for silence instead as she heard the doors of their chambers click. Cecily had just arrived and she wore a great smile on her face, greater than any Catherine had ever seen on her.


	21. Chapter 21

**Thanks to all those who've reviewed. Keep reviewing.  
Sources are listed in previous chapters.**

* * *

**"Death is coming for everyone and everything, the darkness that will swallow the dawn**_**." –**_**Game of Thrones**

1485

The wheel of fortune rises and Mary must rise with it. She opened her eyes.

Another nightmare -she thought. How many more? She wondered. Before this war is over? Why had she been brought here? Her great great grandmother Jacquetta told her that she would have trough wade through blood and she would know loss. It was the price of greatness, but she and her daughter, Elizabeth, would come up on top.

She looked next to her sleeping husband. Would fortune favor him as well?

A letter had been brought from Heytesbury where her sister in law was in. Cecily's betrothed had gone there as Richard's ambassador to ask for her blessing. Somehow he felt her blessing was more important than the king's and the king being Richard, a man who was tired of in fighting and family squabbles, granted him his wish.

On his way there though, Elizabeth wrote, he was met by a band of brigands. He was attacked, robbed, and killed.

_So your daughter is a widower and Richard wastes no time looking for another husband. But not all is bad news. My daughter, our beloved princess of York has come into her own again. As you write me that she continues to charm Richard, I have no doubt the wheel of fortune has risen and we are rising with it yet again._

Mary could almost picture Elizabeth's smile as she wrote this sentence. There were many who were dying for their country, for their faction and all Elizabeth cared at the moment was their success. _And yet how alike them I am_ –she thought. She too had ambitions. She too had shown her daughter the mysteries of the river goddess Melusine so she would be fortunate. And she too dreamed of being in the position she once was as Duchess of Rutland and the highest woman in the land, second only to the queen. But that had been a long time when Elizabeth was still queen and Edward was still alive. Times had changed and they had to adapt themselves to these new changes or else they risked fading into nothing as Henry VI's line.

She communicated Elizabeth's message to Cecily. She did not take it too well. She said before everyone in the royal banquet, while seated next to her oldest cousin Elizabeth of York, the former princess, that she was now likely never to be married and that she would die an old and unhappy maid.

Mary's younger daughters had to roll their eyes at their sibling theatrics. Catherine was this close to tell her older sister how ridiculous she acted, but seeing her mother's sharp look she thought against it.

Her namesake, the Duchess Dowager, managed to calm her daughter and whispered in her ear that they would find a husband for her. "When?" Cecily demanded, ignoring her sisters and her cousins', including the former princess of York, Elizabeth, sniggers. "You said he would have made a good husband. Everyone said he would."

"These things happen. It is the will of god." Said the Duchess Dowager firmly. "It was not in His plans that you married him but calm now, we shall find a new husband for you." And Cecily became instantly calm and sat next to her grandmother.

Mary sighed. She and her cousin Elizabeth were the highest ladies in the court besides the queen and the king's mother, the Duchess Dowager. But beneath all that favor that Richard showed to them, there was another reason for why they were so successful whereas their cousins were not.

* * *

_I send you the compliments of the season and this little book as a gift. It is printed by one Thomas Caxton on a press of his own devising, brought to England by the late and much missed Anthony Rivers, the former queen's brother. I thought you would find a printed book, rather than a hand-copied manuscript, of interest.  
Everyone is saying that Rivers was a man of great foresight to patronize such work. His own sister Elizabeth the queen edited the first text off the press; she is a scholar as well as a beauty, of course.  
Her sister in law, the former Duchess of Rutland, spends her time translating all of the Duchess Dowager Cecily's religious works and the ancient Latin works of the first fathers of the church in England since our present queen can't.  
Imagine then what will it be if one day every man, woman, and child in England could read and say a plague both of the houses York and Lancaster?_

_~ Stanley._

Margaret nearly threw the book and letter across the room. She wanted them all to burn. She could see the flames dancing in her eyes as she had this vision. A vision of disorder and destruction.

No more, she thought. _When Henry is on the throne England will be the land it once was, the land it was meant to be._ _England will be the first nation under god and _**we**_ shall be remembered, the Tudors, as the greatest dynasty that ever lived_.

* * *

Another day, Mary thought and she rose from bed. She knelt before the silver cross her husband had given to her this year as her birthday present. Lowering her eyes, she remembered another cross, not so different from this one. A cross her father's councilor, Thomas More, had given to him before her father turned his back on him as he often did on all his friends; and she prayed.

She rose and called her attendants to dress her. Richard was as always suspicious of everyone and his suspicions increased since his wife had died.

"_Poor woman."_ Elizabeth, her niece and grandmother, had said the night following her funeral, although Mary suspected she did not mean it.

A week had passed since then and spring had recently arrived. The sun was up and York, in spite of Richard's fears, seemed invincible.

Richard still worried however. He could not quiet the rumors that abounded. People in the streets of London were crying 'Common strumpet' 'Dirty urchins!' and they not only directed their insults at the former princess of York, but at Mary and her eldest daughter, Cecily Plantagenet.

The lady Cecily Plantagenet, they shouted, was just another strumpet of a different coat. Everyone had heard how pious she was and how she had cried when she was told her betrothed had died. Everyone took it as a sign (like Richard and Elizabeth) that the two had been deeply in love and intimate.

To dismiss these rumors Richard decided to send both cousins to a lady of impeccable reputation. Lady Margaret Beaufort, now Stanley.

* * *

Margaret laughed. She brought her hand to her mouth. She could not help it. This was the ultimate triumph. The ultimate humiliation to the house of York and Rivers.

She told her servants to prepare two rooms for the former princess and the former Duchess' eldest daughter, the lady Cecily.

The people around her looked at each other. They had never seen their mistress this happy.

Earlier, she had gotten a letter from Jasper telling her that the king of France finally decided to support their cause. This time –he promised- for sure, they would win the crown of England, kill the usurper, and unite both houses of York and Lancaster.

Margaret could not hide her excitement. She thrust the letter in the fire, breathless with the shock. At that very moment she heard the rattle of horses' hooves. It sounded like a guard of about fifty. She got to the leaded window of the great hall and peered out. She saw her husband's standard and the men wearing his livery. He was riding his big horse at the head of them all; and beside him, on a big working cob, his coat burnished to bright chestnut, the captain of the guard is on a pillion saddle; and behind him, sitting sideways and smiling, as if they owned half of England, were two young women in a riding habit of scarlet velvet and the other in forest green.

It was the latter that made her face turn white as snow as she dismounted. Her husband offered her a hand but she refused it politely, her smile was so great it disarmed Stanley, a man Margaret believed never smiled for anyone other than himself but today he was smiling at both women and his smile seemed genuine.

"Lady Margaret." Elizabeth was the first one to greet her followed by her cousin as was protocol that the highest ranking lady introduced herself first.

"My lady Stanley." Cecily said in a softer voice, but her tone firmer than her cousin's. Her eyes pierced her, unlike her royal cousin who dared not do eye contact with the older woman; she did.

She was not afraid of Margaret Beaufort but she was not foolish enough to show her defiance through smiles and fits of giggles as her cousin Elizabeth did.

"Rise." Margaret tried to keep her voice even, but she could not help but click her tongue as she tried to the find the right words.

It was the first time in years she was in the presence of another Rivers girl or another one of her own. This girl, Margaret thought shifting her glance to Mary Hill's girl, was her blood. But she was also a Rivers. And they never brought good. And yet she, like her royal cousin, was Margaret's only hope for solidifying her son's dynasty.

_When he wins he will wed either one of them_. But whom? Margaret wondered.

"Wife, I give you joy," Stanley said bringing her from her thoughts. He let go of the lady Elizabeth's hand and brought her forward to Margaret. She had taken a step back when Cecily greeted her and lord Stanley was a more comely presence besides, than this pale woman. "I am glad to bring you such company to cheer your solitude."

Stanley's tone was mocking but Margaret paid it no heed. "I am happy in my own company, with my studies and my prayers," she said at once. Her husband raised an eyebrow but chose to say nothing.

"I will not intrude on you for long, I am sure, my cousin will not either, right cousin?" Elizabeth turned to her younger cousin Cecily, who shook her head slowly and smiled openly at the lady Stanley.  
Born only months apart from each other, they were a contrast to one another. Both creatures Margaret suspected were lively, Cecily Plantagenet looked the more serious of the two but given time she was sure, in a lively court she would be dancing the same merry tune as everyone else. And both of them were beautiful. Unearthly beautiful –Margaret thought.

"We are very sorry we had to do so and that you might feel like we are, but the king Richard ordered it."

Her husband was about to reassure her he was happy with the arrangement when lady Cecily spoke, her voice soft but maintaining that firmness that equaled her own. "We did not choose this arrangement but we will make the most of it as you and your husband will give us your hospitality, and it is a great honor lady Stanley to be in the presence of a lady so high and pious as you are." She then turned to lord Stanley tilting her head, giving him an inviting smile. "Shall we go to the privy chamber and take some wine lord Stanley? Will you let us? Me and my cousin are exhausted with the journey."

"Yes we are and my cousin Cecily would not stop talking about books. Oh lady Stanley, I think you will like our company very much especially Cecily's, she is one of the best scholars in our family, I dare say in all England. No other woman compares." Elizabeth said linking her arm around Cecily as they both gave pretend smiles to one another and then one to Margaret Beaufort as she and her husband showed them inside.

After the refreshments, lord Stanley had to leave but before he did her curtsied twice, none of the curtseys for his wife who was a lady higher –she considered- and of more noble blood than any of these two girls. But she would not let his jive hurt her. Their marriage was one of pure convenience. He knew it and she knew it so whatever he thought of these two common girls did not hurt her at all.

After he was out, she showed the girls their respective rooms. Cecily's room was the same size of her royal cousin, considerably smaller than any other in the manor but she did not seem to mind.

Her royal cousin, the lady Elizabeth joined them as Cecily went around her room as if checking to see if she would find any imperfection. She found none and congratulated the lady Stanley.

Even now as it was just mere chatter, Margaret found their presence disconcerting.

Lady Cecily was the same as her cousin but there was something in her that whenever she turned her head in her direction, made Margaret shudder. Her eyes were the same as her son's, dark grey and they held the same intensity.

Elizabeth went by her side, she sensed her eyes on them and looked up to Margaret. "We are very sorry to disturb your studies, lady Margaret, we truly are." She said for both. "I have written to my mother and aunt. I t maybe that I will be allowed to go and stay with her and my cousin will be returned to court."

"If we with good fortune the king agrees," Cecily intervened.

"Why were you sent from court?" Margaret asked. She did not want to pry but the two York girls had opened the door for her, and it would be rude not to ask. "Did you get into some trouble? I am quite in disgrace for my support of my son as you know."

Elizabeth of York shook her head. "There is none." Her cousin said, and Elizabeth added "I think the king just wanted us to be in a household where there could be no question against our reputation. People talk as you know and there were rumors, foul gossip spreading in court that people were all too eager to believe." She paused then asked quietly. "You do not believe it do you lady Stanley?"

Margaret shook her head and asked innocently what these rumors were. "I live in the countryside, the king's punishment has cut me off from every other human soul except my husband and my servants. I know nothing and I hear nothing." She said simply and this gave the older York girl some confidence.

"The king was very kind to both of our mothers after …" a shadow appeared on her face, "it happened … He invited them to court and made us ladies in waiting to his queen, may god rest her soul."

She did the sign of the cross and Margaret could not help but be revolted by her actions. _How dares she? _

"There was gossip, terrible gossip lady Stanley. People at court were all too eager to believe, but I digress. My uncle Richard often singled me out from all the ladies at the court and as he did this Her Grace was dying and you can imagine what people started saying."

"No, I can't." Margaret said stoutly, grinding her teeth, waiting to have her worst fears confirmed. "What did they whisper? Tell me, you can tell me anything." She said showing them her confidence but the oldest York girl was unsure whether she should trust her or not. If she had her wits about her like her mother and cousin did, she would choose not to but as wits were known to skip a generation, she did.

"They said that the king would have taken me for his wife." She confessed.

"And how would you have liked that?" Margaret asked steadily, shifting her eyes occasionally to the younger York girl whose face gave nothing away. She managed to remained calm, observing the byplay of expression and words between the heiress of the red rose of Lancaster and the former York princess.

Elizabeth blushed deep rose, as red as her cap. "It is not for me to decide," she said quietly. "My mother must arrange my marriage. And besides, I am already betrothed to your son. Such things are for my mother and my guardians to decide."

"Your maidenly obedience does you credit, I am sure," Margaret said and turned to the other York girl. This girl although born of the house of York, she suspected was more Lancaster by the way she acted and controlled herself unlike her cousin.

Margaret tilted her head sideways urging her to speak. Whether or not she understood was irrelevant. Margaret was not a woman who liked waiting but with Cecily Plantagenet she would as Cecily remained silent.

"Well?"

"Yes, my lady?"

Margaret was this close to losing all of her self-control at this descendant of hers. Was she the answer to her prayers? Did god send her mother so she would create this creature to marry her son instead of Elizabeth? Margaret finally had enough and ordered her to speak.

"What do you wish me to say lady Stanley?" She said intoning her great great grandmother's title and locking eyes with hers.

"I wish you to tell me the truth."

"Of what?" Cecily asked with feigned innocence. She was so good that Margaret almost believed her, almost.  
Cecily smiled inwardly. If she only knew. She was the granddaughter of the founder of the house of York, her grandmother the great Duchess Dowager Cecily Neville. She was descendent of a great lineage through both her parents. She could raise her chin and stand proud if she wanted to, here and now, before her ancestors but she would not. Cecily as her namesake was wise. Unlike her mother who was too emotional (and foolish –Cecily thought), Cecily knew how to control her feelings and by looking at the lady Stanley directly in the eye, she showed her that not only was she confident of herself, but she did not fear her.

Margaret grew annoyed with the younger woman's imprudence and left the room in a fury.

"Getting to know each other I see-" Lord Stanley was about to say when his wife ran past him. He looked questioningly at the two young women but they offered him nothing but an innocent smile that quickly won him over.

* * *

"They are insufferable." Margaret said through gritted teeth.

"Forget you are a Beaufort and proud heiress of the house of Lancaster and be a Stanley for once –be on the winning side. So what if the girls annoy you? They've been here for less than a month and so far you've done nothing more but complain." A look of worry passed through his face as he showed her a letter.

"What is it?"

"Read it." Was all he said and she did and she ripped the letter in half after she was done. "Her mother wants her back. Lady Mary claims she's had a vision from god that all her children are in mortal danger. She thinks that if this is the end of the line for the Yorks, that all her family should stay together. And you also have to factor her husband who is finally buckling up and being a man for once and defending his family."

"It will be useless. Her husband will die. I know it." Margaret said.

"According to whom? To you or to god? Who is it now that speaks to you my dear wife?"

"God, the almighty and I_ have_ seen it in a vision. I have seen all the Yorks burn and the white rose turn to ashes and bleed with the swords of Lancaster and many other more at my son's command. He will be king, Thomas."

"He will be a penniless king if you continue to speak so loudly." Stanley said going outside their bedchamber to see if no one had heard. No one was in sight. Thomas was grateful for that. He turned to his wife. "Treat the ladies with courtesy, they are not here to have a good time, they are here to get to know you. To know their future mother in law."

"Only one will marry my son." Margaret declared but then she remembered the lady Elizabeth of York's prophecy from what doctor Lewis had said. _Twice born on the same year, two queens of the same house._

"And it could be either one of them so yourself a favor and to make her more agreeable by the time your son comes, convince her of your godliness, act as if you are the queen of heaven." He said. "It would do you no harm, you are a good actress, surely you can pull a stung as big as this one. It will be the role of your life besides, you the kind and adorable woman." He taunted laughing at his wife's scornful look.

Margaret tried following her husband's advice but she quickly wavered as the days went on and she noticed how observant both young women were. She looked at them but they also looked at her and the younger of the two never missed a thing.

Her husband sent her news from court that said that Mary Hill and the rest of the York children would be sent to Sheriff Hutton for safekeeping. Margaret knew that both women would long to be with them, especially lady Cecily who spoke so gracefully of her mother remarking how intelligent she was, beautiful despite the passage of time, and a remarkable woman. Of course she would. Margaret thought. Lady Cecily thinks she can trick her speaking well of her mother but Margaret was not easily fooled. She knew that the younger York girl knew everything about her and her mother's true origins.  
_She pretends to hate her namesake whenever I ask her of her grandmother, but I can see that she is lying. I will not be fooled. _–Margaret vowed.

In the three months they've been with her, her days become a routine. Pray and sit with them. The older York girl is immensely curious and outspoken whenever Margaret gives her the chance but like Margaret she is careful with what she says, but there are times when Margaret can break her and one of those times is now.

"It must be hard for your mother being at a house that is not hers. She must miss the court." Margaret started, pretending to read the pages of her book.

"I think a lady of her fine standing must be finding her new life very dull and unrewarding."

"I don't think so. My lady mother says she enjoys it, and life is always idle there. The manor is very large and she is spoken of with great honor. Everyone says they would be honored to house her."

"Nonetheless it must still be hard for a woman who had it all."

"My lady mother does not care for vanities, she says vanities only distract us from the real world, she is very grateful for the joys she's been given in me and my sisters. After my brothers she has learn to accept what she has with grace and humility."

_She must have_. Yet Margaret did not believe that the proud Elizabeth Woodville had been humbled. Women like her could never be humbled.

When the hot July came Cecily became more silent and let her cousin, Elizabeth, do most of the talking. Cecily opted for the role of the silent observer and she did it so well that her presence was hardly noticed.

Her mother wrote letters to Cecily daily but did not answer them. She could not afford to be on lady Stanley's black list.

* * *

Mary wrote the lady Stanley from Sheriff Hutton in Nottingham, warning her that she touched one hair of her son's body, it would not only be her she would kill but her son as well.

Tudor be damned –she was of neither York or Lancaster but if she had to choose a side she would choose the side that fought for the living. And that was York, she wrote.

* * *

Cecily covered her mouth and laughed discreetly at her cousin's joke. "What is that?" Margaret asked turning her attention to the York girls.

"Oh nothing Madame, we were just saying how the seasons change so fast and the climate in England is so hard to make out. Don't you agree?"

"I couldn't have agreed more myself." Elizabeth said giggling very loud. Her voice was so contagious (like a siren's) that it lured others to them.

"You, my ladies, would do well to show some discretion if you want me to fix your reputation." Margaret began but watched as her own ladies flocked to them and asked them what was so funny now as both were now laughing. The lady Cecily more discreetly than her cousin but it didn't matter, it was loud enough for her to hear and she suspected it was also done on purpose to annoy her.

"Lady Cecily would you be so kind as to come with me."

"Yes lady Stanley, it would be an honor. I always love being in the company of women so pious and your reputation is one so great." Said the younger of the cousins following Margaret to her chambers. "Is there something you wish to talk to me about, lady Stanley?" She asked with a small smile, her hands joined together, waiting patiently for Margaret to start.

Margaret licked her lips. Where to start? "What is it you were accused of in your uncle's court, if you do not mind me asking?"

"Of course not my lady and I am happy you did," she quickly added spreading her hands then joining them again, "for I don't think I could bare this secret any longer."

"It must kill you then to tell me."

"Yes it does." She said showing an open smile to the lady Stanley.

"Tell me then." Margaret said softly, commanding her.

The younger York girl obliged and told her, reciting every word as her mother and grandmother (no doubt –Margaret thought) told her to. "The king tried very hard to tell everyone that it wasn't true, that I was a maid and a virgin but you know how are the common tongues, they are willing to believe every foul gossip and when the country is in such peril of being attacked as my uncle often fears, they will believe everything if it means getting them in the graces of a new king."

"What do you mean new king?"

"Oh … well … I thought you should know. There is talk, my mother sends me letters. She tells me Uncle Richard fears that your son could land very soon."

Yes, he would. Her brother in law, Jasper Tudor, had told her that the French had finally shown their support and at the helm of the army was her son Henry with thousand other troops, men from prisons, mercenaries, rappers, killers, people of the worst kind. And they are soon to land –he wrote to her.

Any day now, she thought. The sun of York will set.

She waved her hand, dismissing the girl but she blinked, all confused. "Don't you wish to know more lady Stanley?" She asked tilting her head sideways but Margaret Beaufort shook her head. She had all she needed to know and dismissed the girl again, this time she obeyed and Margaret got back to writing.

She couldn't trust her husband's man but she had no choice. She had to use him to send a message to Jasper.

_God is with us, Henry and I are amassing the largest army England has ever seen.  
Henry and I are counting on you to bring out the Stanleys. Please God I shall see you at your boy's coronation, or else I shall never see you again. God bless you either way. This has been a long good cause, and I have been proud to serve your son and you.  
God is with us Margaret. Your boy will be king.  
~Jasper T._

"I promise" She said to herself. "I promise" She repeated, her voice filled with stronger conviction. "I shall turn my husband to our side." One way or another, Stanley would see her way. Even if she had to beg, so be it. She would have Thomas Stanley on their side. For didn't he say that a Stanley was always on the winning side? Well, her son would be king, so it would be more convenient for _him_ to have a king who was his stepson than serving one who would always be distrustful of him.

* * *

Fifteen ships set sail from Harfleur, financed by the French the following month of August. Henry could feel it now. Victory.

This time there would be victory. And whoever he got to first (Cecily or Elizabeth. It didn't matter) would be his bride, and she would help him heal the nation from the scars left by the cousins' war.

_His_ new nation, he thought, smirking as he felt the soft breeze. _This time I will not fail_.


	22. Chapter 22

**Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. Keep reviewing.**

**Sources listed in previous chapters. Short chapter but enjoy!**

* * *

The ships that set sail on August 1, 1485, with a force of exiles and French mercenaries commanded by Henry Tudor and his uncle, Jasper Tudor; that landed on Pembrokeshire six days later.

Richard had no time to waste. He took Thomas Stanley's son, lord Strange, captive. Thomas Stanley willingly gave him up, knowing it would be the only way he could prove his loyalty to Richard.

"You better hope your father loves you more than your money or else I will cut you the throat the minute I see your father join that dog Henry Tudor in the field against me." He whispered in the cowering boy's ear.

He did not need to fear. Stanley showed up on the appointed date of the battle, August 22. He was in the center, far off from the two warring armies of York and Lancaster. He carried the banners of the York king so he left no doubt on everyone's mind that he was for York.

"Please Stanley." Henry thought aloud, echoing his mother's prayers days before he had landed. He raised his eyes to the sky. The sun was at its highest point, and it was shining on Richard of York as if he was the deliverer. "Perhaps this is a mistake." He said to himself.

His uncle heard and placed his hand on his boy's shoulder. Since his brother died, he had considered Henry his own, he had raised him, gave him his first sword and he had been there for him even when his mother couldn't. He loved them both, if truth be told, he would gladly give up his own life just to see this boy, Edmund's son crowned king of England.

Richard gritted his teeth as he saw some of the men he had appointed in Wales on the side of that usurper. Everywhere he went he brought destruction. Henry gathered supporters on his march through Wales and the Welsh Marches, and defeated Richard at the Battle of Bosworth Field.

Richard raised his arm ready to strike the would be king, Henry Tudor. His armies were defeated, his mercenaries although ruthless proved useless in battle and his men of more formidable and well-trained men proved to the better foe.

When Henry saw his standard bearer William Brandon fall, he knew the dragon of Wales, Cadwallader, the red dragon, was defeated.

"This is the end" He whispered. Richard heard him and grinned. "It is." He said and raised his sword higher, and as it was about to fall he heard the call of his officers yell "Treason! Treason! Serpents! Traitors! We've been betrayed!"

Stanley!

"Traitors!" His commander's cries were silenced as Stanley's men ran their swords through him. "Traitors!" His echoes reverberated throughout the field as Richard's men were slaughtered.

"Stanley!" He cried, gripping his sword, forgetting for a second that Tudor was there standing before him.

Henry scrambled through the mud and dead bodies to look for his sword but couldn't find it so he decided to grab another one and raised at the king but it was too late. Someone else took his glory, that unknown soldier whom history would not remember and in his stead the history books would say that it was Henry Tudor, the mighty Henry, inheritor to the red rose of Lancaster who stroke the usurper king of York, thus ending his reign.

"Protect the king! Protect the king …" They shouted but it was too late, one sword, not Tudor himself, but another, one of his stepfather's men, ran his sword through his head. Yet he was not dead. More blows to the head and swords ran through his back did the trick.

At long last, the last Plantagenet king, fell. At long last, the sun in splendor, the sun of York, the white rose's reign had come to an end.

* * *

Elizabeth and Cecily had not been with lady Stanley when they heard the news. Prior to August, on the last days of July, their uncle, king Richard, had decided to send them to Sheriff Hutton.

Cecily could remember how uptight Margaret Beaufort was and tried to coax her cousin Elizabeth of York to say the truth about her infatuation with Richard. Was it infatuation or more than that? Were they really lovers? And like any good Woodville girl who knew how to hide her feelings, she replied "_The truth lady Margaret is that I am nothing of those things you believe about me. A lady such as yourself ought to know better."_

_"How dare you? If you were my daughter I would box your ears –"_

_"But you are not lady Stanley, you may never be my mother but if your son were to become king then …" she paused, pretending to be in deep thought, then suddenly she looked back to lady Stanley and drew up a smile, "… I suppose you would be my mother and I would have to be your subject."_

_"Then again," she added seeing that lady Stanley would interrupt, "you would just be the King's mother, a mere lady while I, whether your son wins or not, shall become a Queen." And with that she left the older woman's presence._

Cecily fought the urge to laugh. The lady Stanley would be My lady the King's mother. She had seen this in a dream. Unlike her cousin, she knew politics and social etiquette. Lady Stanley was not a woman who would conform herself in the role of a king's mother, like her namesake, the Duchess Dowager, she would seek the highest position in the land and that was one of king's councilor.

She would be her son's true queen, his queen in all but name.

* * *

A whole party rode to Sheriff Hutton weeks after. Edward of Warwick, only son of the late George, Duke of Gloucester and his young bride, Isabel Neville, daughter of the kingmaker, shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Mary's grandparents, the Catholic kings had as much blood in their hands as did her grandfather for killing his young and innocent boy. Her own father followed in his footsteps killing the last remnants of the white rose. "Cut out the weeds." He had told his best friend Charles Brandon. Mary had been hiding behind a curtain hearing both men talk. "Everyone condemns now for killing that innocent boy, but that boy could have one day become a man with thousand troops of his disposal to wipe out the Tudor dynasty. "

Her father was right, from a political standpoint. She hated herself every day for killing Jane Grey. It was a kill, she told herself. Execution, rightful or not, she had not wielded the axe, but she had given the order and in the end she was just as guilty as her executioner. Nonetheless, Mary did not condone what the others did. They were just as guilty as her but Mary did not think any less of them because of it. People may have called her 'Bloody Mary' and mocked her for her failure in giving the Tudor dynasty a heir, but in doing so, her divine ancestress had brought here. To a land where she was loved and loved in return.

She was not about to give that up.

* * *

When Margaret Beaufort went to Sheriff Hutton she found neither the lady Mary, nor her husband.

Her husband had escaped from the battle, before it was over, Richard had told his brother when he said he had a vision of defeat, before he raised his sword at Tudor, to travel to Sheriff Hutton and dress as a messenger. Edmund had killed one of their own men to accomplish this and when he arrived, he told Mary of Richard's vision and seeing his wife's eyes darkened did he finally realize that the rumors about her sister in law's powers and hers were true, and that Richard was undoubtedly doomed.

They waited for official news of the battle. When they got them, they set out a plan to leave England with their son Arthur but Mary told him firmly that he should stay there with them.

"No Mary I shall not have that. They will kill him!" he cried but Mary whispered something in his ear that convinced him.

Margaret Beaufort questioned everyone in the household but no one dared say a word. They had no love for the former queen of York, but they loved the Duchess of Rutland, many of them still referred to her as such. None of them betrayed her and they risked having their limbs torn, their properties taken, and even their heads. The lady Stanley realizing she would get nowhere, dismissed them and appointed new guards for the York children.

She took especial care of Elizabeth and Cecily who once again were back where they started, with the lady Margaret as their guardian.


	23. Chapter 23

**Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and keep reviewing. Sources listed in previous chapters. This was inspired by the latest episode of the white queen.**

* * *

1485-1486

"Mother?" Arthur asked sleepily. He had taken a nap after the service, it had seem like he had slept all day and his older sister Cecily told him he had. Tired, he thought he was looking right into the face of his face and asked her.

But Cecily broke the spell.

"Mother is not coming Arthur." Three weeks had passed since her cousin's wedding to the Tudor pretender. He was a pretender no longer. His throne had been secured on the blood of Yorks, her family –she thought, and now all he needed was a Tudor heir to legitimize his weak claim on it.

Everyone knew an heir was important but no one knew it more than the lady Stanley. They would have been living in penury had it not been for her. Her mother had been right. She had not taken Arthur to the tower as she took lord Warwick, their cousin Edward Plantagenet, the oldest and one of the two last remaining Plantagenet heirs, son to the late Duke of Clarence and his young wife Isabel Neville.

Lady Margaret Beaufort had taken a special interest in her little brother, she showered him with gifts and since she (Cecily suspected) never got to give her son the childhood she wanted, she took to her everywhere she went.

She stopped seeing him as a York and started seeing as Lancaster for he was Lancastrian and more importantly, Tudor. She kissed his forehead, coming after Cecily had put him to bed. She told him he was to be made a Duke and he would grow to be first gentleman of the court after Elizabeth of York gave her son a boy. "And my sisters? Will Angie and Ceci be with me?"

"Lady Cecily and lady Angelique will attend the queen's confinement. I thought they told you." Margaret said petting her great great grandson's head. He was the exact copy of her Henry when he was little.

He shook his head.

"You will still see them when the queen has given us a fine Tudor prince and you, you will be the future king's guardian." She could see it now. She would unite all her family through marriage and securing alliances with only the most powerful and loyal nobles in the land. "Don't you like that? The king's future guardian, I know you will do His work and keep all of us safe." She kissed his forehead and ran her thin fingers through his hair that was turning darker as her son's. Like Henry, he would grow to be a true Lancastrian, loyal only to them.

"Go with god my son." She said and left his chambers.

Arthur spent the night, without sleeping, closing his eyes but Morpheus would not claim him, wondering if he would ever see his mother again. He missed her, he loved it when she came to tuck him in. "You are the luckiest boy in England." She'd always say. He pretended his strong arms were her strong arms and wrapped them around himself whispering "Sleep my prince." And finally Morpheus claimed him.

* * *

In Spain, in Alcala de Henares a girl was born. It was not the second son she hoped to secure her dynasty but Isabel would love her all the same, this one even more so because unlike the other this child did not cry. She simply stared at her and would not smile or utter a sound until her mother allowed her to.

"A true Infanta." The regnant queen of Castile and Consort of Aragon proclaimed. She allowed Mary Hill, the exiled and former Duchess of Rutland to be one of her ladies, and assist her in the birthing.

Mary held the child in her arms. Mother. The child seemed to recognize Mary and smiled, she gave a small giggle that the queen of Castile disapproved but seeing the child so comfortable in her new lady's arms, she could not help but ignore this gesture. It would not happen in the past, Isabel decided. Her daughter would grow up to become a queen, she had seen it in a vision. God had chosen her daughter to be queen, the next queen of England.

_Now to chose the groom. Which groom?_ There were so many she could have chosen, so many princes who had already proposed to her since she was in her mother's womb, anticipating she would be a girl. But there was only one prince Isabel had in mind. All provided that the Tudor dynasty remained strong, in case it didn't she had Mary Hill and her husband, the former York royal with them. They were still young, and the former Duchess had proven herself fertile, she could make more sons.

* * *

"When will the prince come?" Lady Angelique asked the queen. Henry would not anoint her until she proved herself. Unlike the Woodville woman, as many called her now, queens would not be anointed until they proved themselves. _"It's not an official law." Her older sisters told her, "It will only be until our cousin Lizzie has given Henry an heir and if she gives many, it won't matter anymore. Laws are made to be broken and royal laws more so." Cecily added –"Remember our uncle Edward, he broke many laws to marry our common aunt and our uncle, the late Richard was about to do the same with our cousin."_

She was brought to the present by her cousin's voice. "Ah!" She moaned and grunted and clutched her stomach. She felt a hot stabbing pain in her midsection.

Cecily looked at Angelique, with a single gesture the youngest York girl knew what to do and speared away to fetch the midwife.

The midwives and physicians came at once. Cecily was told to wait outside with king Henry. They looked at each other, none said a word. They simply stared at the nothingness until their eyes met and a secret understanding passed between. Cecily looked away when the king's mother, My Lady the King's mother as she now styled herself, arrived. She had been given a new title, that of Countess of Richmond. She was femme sole, a countess in her own right. Some who still clung to the hope that the York sun would rise again, called her "Lady Earl" to mock her, but the ever strong lady Richmond took it as a compliment rather than an insult. She said the Lord would provide, and that Henry was the one, the true and rightful king but everyone knew this wasn't true. He obtained the right to rule through his mother.

It was never heard from before. The right to rule from his mother and Cecily was sure that if the Countess wanted, if she had been bold enough, she would have taken the crown for herself. There was no woman more determined, more ruthless than she.

Cecily admired her. How could she not when she had taken the reins of destiny and made a name for herself? Cecily wished she could do the same. Actually, she thought smiling as Henry Tudor smiled at her, she still could. It all depended on whether or not her cousin would give birth to …

"We have a son! We have a son!" Angelique cried coming out of the room with a little bundle in her arms. They had cleaned him up and changed the queen's clothes and bed linens for when the king came in to congratulate her on her success. She had secured the future of the Tudor dynasty. In one single blow she had squashed all York threats and future pretenders. This boy would be the salvation of their dynasty, he knew it. He knew it in his heart and deep in his soul. He would be their king, the second and most glorious king of the Tudor dynasty.

"Arthur." He said, rocking his first baby son back and from. "My first son, my true heir, England's true heir, you will make us all proud." Then he gazed at his aunt, lady Cecily who wore the greatest smile out of everyone in the room, outshining everyone, including the queen whose forehead was still sweating and was so tired she could barely sit up to meet her husband when he came in with his lady mother and her cousin Cecily behind him.

"My love," he said, the words were so foreign to him. He hardly knew what they meant. But now gazing down at their little son, this miracle that they had made, he knew that deep down in his soul he loved him and he loved her for making his dream come true.

* * *

Cecily clicked her tongue as she held her nephew, prince Arthur, waiting for the baptismal waters to touch his forehead. Everyone curtsied to her because she was the queen's cousin, and the eldest daughter of the would be pretender, the former Duke of Rutland and his wife, Mary Hill. But no one feared or respected her as they did her cousin and My Lady the King's mother, for their relation to being married to the king and being his mother respectively. She wished they would because unlike Elizabeth, her mother had the blood of a thousand generation of kings, from the Catholic kings to where she and her husband were now, housed in their court, to the first kings in England. Her blood ran thicker than any of Bess, but alas she was the queen and there was nothing she could but watch history unfold and repeat itself before her eyes.

She placed the baby in his mother's arms and curtsied to her, lowering her head more than the other ladies in the room. "Thank you" Elizabeth said, her voice a soft melody, it calmed the baby's wails instantly, yet it was not enough to scorch her husband's desire to destroy every York threat.

His desire to make England into a peaceful nation could only be succeed with the blood of his enemies and at present one of them was housed in the tower while the others served him, including her little brother Arthur.

Cecily curtsied to her cousin, taking her cue as the king arrived, to leave. She did not see the king glancing at her, trying to make eye contact; she could only feel his dark presence mingled with her own.


	24. Chapter 24

**Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. Keep reviewing.**

**Sources listed in previous chapters.**

* * *

1486

Mary held little Catherine in her arms. Her nursemaid had gone to sleep, her mother kept her awake all night and nobody but family could calm her down. Isabella was too preoccupied with running Castile and helping her husband run his dominions that she was hardly present so the task was left to Mary.

"There, there mamá, it is me, tu hija María Isabel, me recuerdas?" The child raised her eyes and laughed at her daughter's stupefied look. For one minute she had thought she recognized her. "Back in your crib, it's enough excitement for today." She placed her back in her crib and brought the sheets closer to her tiny body. Her mother was not a large baby, not like she said she was but she was healthy and her round cheeks and rosy skin color were a testament to that.

She wondered what kind of future awaited her. If she would give Arthur sons in this ones, or would she still marry her father and give him sons? She shook her head. That was highly unlikely. Her father could not have healthy sons with any of his wives and mistresses, why should he have with her?

She left the nursery and returned to her chambers. She was eight weeks pregnant. The physicians had confirmed it. Edmund had been overjoyed but worried that she could lose the child, due to her advanced age. Mary convinced him she would be all right. If her mother survived through all her pregnancies so could she.

Months passed and her belly got larger. Isabella was gambling it all on the hopes that the former Duchess would give birth to a son. If she did, she would make an alliance with her and Margaret of Burgundy and give her ships, guns, and everything else they needed to dethrone the false king, Henry VII and crown her son king with her infant daughter as his queen.

She would not waste any time, the marriage ceremony would be celebrated and standing for her darling Catherine would be her Dueña, Doña Elvira and standing for her York husband, would be his father, Edmund Plantagenet. Sadly that was not to be.

Mary gave birth to twins, both of them girls.

"I am so sorry." Mary said to the Castilian queen who offered no gesture except for a wave of dismissal from her hand that said 'forget it' when she left. Mary sighed. She had hoped this would be the son they had promised, a son make him king and take the Tudor dynasty out once and for all.

"I am sorry." She said to Edmund. He shook his head. "We will have more." He reassured her and took the babe from her hands and kissed her head. He left her chambers and let her maids clean her and their newborn. When he came back Mary was in a better mood. How could they not be happy when they had had another child? In spite of being of the weaker sex, she proved that Mary could still have children, and healthy ones at that.

"The next one will be a boy." He told Mary kissing her cheek, then looked down at their daughter she was holding. He could not help but admire her. Would she turn as pliant and submissive as what was expected of royal women, or would she turn ambitious, and become every bit of the strong fighter that her mother and her York ancestors were? He hoped it was the latter.

* * *

"Welles was rewarded, did you know that?" Mary's eldest daughter turned her head to her oldest cousin and queen.

"No, I had not heard, I remember very little after that fateful day."

"Why cousin, you sound as if you were in the battle yourself." Said the younger Cecily, the queen's sister, giggling as she refused to answer. A knowing look passed between the queen and her cousin.

They both knew what had transpired during the battle, they both knew who had betrayed whom and they both knew the blood was on Welles, Stanley, and many others –that the queen's mother, the former queen of York was ready to reap vengeance and sprout more curses at them. None of them worked however. The queen dowager had lost her power and her daughter was faring no better. This world was for the living, for the mortals who won their hard earned bread with the sweat of their brow and not through magic.

_Yet_, Cecily thought, _there will always be some of us who will cling to the old ways._

For was it not magic a means to an end, a weapon, no different than any other? Magic was her sword, wisdom her armor, and beauty her ultimate weapon.

Weeks passed and news arrived from Spain, news that the king and the king's mother, lady Richmond knew beforehand. "The former Duchess of Rutland has given birth to a baby girl." Some of the women in the queen's service mocked. Cecily ignored them. "A baby girl! Can you imagine Isabel's face? That bitch must have lost all her marbles when she heard. She was betting on the lady Mary to have a son to give her daughter a husband."

"A son? Did she really think that lady Mary after all she's done, that god would grant her a son? She must have gone mad."

"What was she thinking?"

"Obviously she was not." Elizabeth of York said, raising herself up. Graceful, quietly walking to Cecily's direction, placing her hand on the younger woman's shoulder. _It will soon be over_ –her eyes said. Although both of them knew this was not so; as long her mother was away and she was on the loose with her father, she would always be the subject of mockery.

Mary Hill had dared to do what no other royal figure had done, not even the queen dowager, seek support and win the hearts of foreign monarchs through her grace and soft speech, but, there were others that saw this as treason and considered her a witch for her husband allowing her to take the reins of the matter.

The queen of Castile would not give her support for long though. A girl was no use to anyone, and one born in Spain, England would always see her as a foreigner. It would have been better, more profitable if the child had been born a boy, then Margaret Beaufort and the king would have forgiven her and allowed her and her husband to return with their new daughter.

But it was not to be.

Cecily turned away.

"May I be excused?" She asked.

Elizabeth nodded and everyone watched the lady Cecily leave the queen's privy chambers.

She squeezed her fists as she sunk into the chair resting next to her bed. Her mother had once been the most powerful woman in the kingdom, the queen, the first queen regnant and then she was the second most powerful after Elizabeth Woodville, her aunt, when fate brought her here. Now what was she? Nothing.

Cecily had to stand every day as they mocked her; she could deal with the taunts. She always held her head high, her lady grandmother always told her nothing the commons and people of the lesser kind said could hurt her for she was above them, her blood made her royal, half divine. But this was more than she could bear.

Taking the ring from her drawer she put it on. Melusina had given this to her, she had seen her future in the river that was her divine ancestress domains. She would be the queen, not just a mere consort and mother of princes, but _the_ queen.

* * *

Arthur Plantagenet had just been created Duke of Rutland and Earl of March, his father and uncle's former titles. He was becoming the premier Duke; a powerful York ally that could have turned against them at any point, they had turned into a friend. A very powerful friend that served to create animosity between the leaders of the new rebellion against Henry VII, whom they still called "usurper" and wished to restore the York monarchy. Francis Lovell, first Viscount Lovell and the Stafford brothers, Sir Humphrey Stafford and Thomas Stafford raised their armies on April 22, twenty days after Prince Arthur's birth. But the rebellion had been a disaster from day one.

Staffords considered themselves more capable of ruling, they were after all of nobler ancestry than Lovell and Edward, Earl of Warwick who was one of the proponents, was too young and his father besides, had been a traitor. What was it to say that he would not turn on them as well, once he was on the throne? Francis, the closest friend to the last York king, told them to shut their mouths and keep spearheading this rebellion. The York monarchy would be restored, and it would be someone of their choice this time.

"Why not Arthur? He is a Plantagenet much as his cousin, Edward, is." Asked the younger of the Stafford brothers, Thomas.

"Because he will never be royal." Francis said. Although in his veins ran the blood of many kings, through his mother's side it had become diluted with the blood of commoners, urchins. He could never do. They had to have someone who was a true royal, a pure York.

The Stafford kept their peace but they soon wished they hadn't because very soon their rebellion was squashed by the usurper's forces in Worcester, and they were forced to seek sanctuary in Cullham.

The king took immediate action. The Stafford brothers were forcibly removed from Cullham weeks later by John Savage and sixty followers. His mother, a pious woman, did not agree with his methods but knew there was no other way, so she gave her son her blessing. Henry then ordered the execution of Humphrey Stafford, but as for Thomas, he was unsure what to do with him.

Elizabeth, his wife, advised him it would be ill to hurt him. She was no longer the giggly girl she had been, Cecily, her cousin, had been the first one to notice the drastic change. From a happy, care-free princess to a queen consort whose only concern was for the welfare of her husband and his dynasty. Cecily did not know whether to feel pity or contempt, because despite the golden prison she was in, she was still a royal and lavished with magnificent gifts. Everyone curtsied to her, after the king's mother –where the true power lay; she was the most important woman in the kingdom. Cecily was just the daughter of a rebel, another she-wolf.

Cecily took her set of cards and decided to raise the stakes. She knocked on the king's chambers, her great grandfather, Henry VII.

"Lady Cecily, what brings you here at this ungodly hour?" She smiled, a secretive smile and curtsied before him, then, surprising him, she pushed him aside and walked into his parlor. "May I sit, Your Grace?" She asked in soft voice, the same voice her mother often used to sooth her father when he was angry.

He was too stunned to speak. Nobody had ever talked or behave in this sort of way before, not even his mother who practically worshipped the ground he walked on. He nodded and gestured to the armchair in front of his. She smiled, ever gracious and grateful for everything he had done for her brother and sisters, and sat.

Henry VII saw the devil behind those beautiful sapphire eyes, her fair complexion and her red-brown hair. But he couldn't resist looking at her. "Will you tell me the purpose of your visit?" He asked. She held her hand up showing him the cards. "You could have gone to the queen, lady Cecily."

"I could but then why would I play a game that I am bound to lose?"

"You think you can win against me?"

"I am not certain of anything but I heard Your Grace is a good player, competitive, a challenge worth taking."

"You heard what happened to Sir Humphrey?"

She detected a tone of warning in his voice. She was not sure if this was an indirect or a poor attempt of starting a conversation, but she decided to play along and nodded her head. "A true tragedy."

"You call his execution a tragedy?"

"Why yes, Jesus tells us to forgive and some men are not responsible for their actions, it was the devil that led him and his brother to rebel."

"Very true." Henry said and getting irritated with her slow movement, he took some of her cards, "Let me" he said, and began spreading the cards. He gave a signal with her hand that told her to move.

She nodded her head and smile in gratitude. The game began and as it was clear that Henry was winning, he began to speak once again, "What do you think of Francis Lovell? Is he really the devil?"

"No." She said in all honesty.

"You just said they were instigated by the devil."

"That is true Your Grace, but behind every small man there is a higher authority." There is always a higher authority –her namesake had told her, and this was no different. "Lovell, could not have done this alone." She said and the king nodded, echoing her thoughts. Then it dawned to him as quickly as the words escaped her lips. "de la Pole."

A vein throbbed in his forehead, he swore he would have his head on the block before the year was over. De la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, would not win, neither of them would succeed. This was his kingdom and his dynasty was here to stay.

Cecily watched the different mixture of emotions crossing his face, then asked, "Your move, Your Grace."

He moved but Cecily chuckled and showed him her cards. Pair of queens. "I win Your Grace." She said giving him a sympathetic smile

Henry smirked. Suddenly all his anger at these York rebels and their demands to restore the York monarchy was forgotten, he even forgot about his lady's treacherous lady mother and her husband, the former Duke of Rutland.

He tilted his head, imitating her movements and saw for the first time the truth in her dark grey eyes as they met his. They were the same, deep down they were just the same, both self-made, both ridiculed and gotten to the top out of nothing. Yet she was still down, his wife's ladies still ridiculed and she said nothing. She kept her chin up, and raised her head up in defiance, knowing that brawling would solve nothing and that deep down in her soul, she was better than any of them. She was a York, she descended from kings, even when her mother was an urchin. Her father's blood set her above everyone, but until she found herself engaged to a powerful nobleman or someone in the king's favor she would continue to be a nobody.

Unbeknownst to Henry, she was setting her eyes on the larger prize vowing it would not be long before everyone bowed to her, and respected and loved her as they did her mother once in her past life.

* * *

Francis Lovell rode as fast as he could to de la Pole. He was growing tired of the former Duchess and Duke. They sought political asylum in Burgundy where its Duchess was no other but Margaret Plantagenet, sister of the last two York kings.

"Of course you will have ships, ammunition, and everything you need." She'd told Lovell on his arrival. He was surprised to find the brothers reunited, though not too surprised to see Margaret Plantagenet, a woman that had been so beautiful, more –he considered- than the dirty urchin and the former queen, Elizabeth Woodville, hardened by years of loss and betrayal.

She should feel blessed for her sex, Francis considered. She did not have to witness their king slain or bear the stain of defeat. But, he guessed, even women had their ways of mourning. Margaret's was through vengeance. After the Woodville woman had sent her to marry the Duke, she vowed she would have her revenge and now finally, the opportunity had come. But not through Lovell or de la Pole's plan on putting that baker's son on the throne. She turned to Lovell and told him to carry the letter to his master de la Pole. He kissed her jeweled fingers and hid the letter inside his brown doublet then left without curtsying to either Mary or Edmund.

Margaret laughed as she watched the bastard go. "Some things never change." She said licking her dry lips. It was hard to believe that she had once been the object of admiration. Mary shook her head mentally. Among her many admirers was her eldest daughter, Cecily, who wished she would grow to be as beautiful and alluring as her aunt, and make a profitable marriage with an equally powerful and handsome husband as Charles the Bold. After his death, Margaret had become the de facto ruler of her duchy. She would not hand it over to the French and she had fought through intrigue and betrayal to give herself and her stepdaughter, Mary of Burgundy, the liberty to choose their own husbands, their own ministers, everything.

Mary however ended up choosing marriage, although she masked it as duty. The suo jures Duchess married Emperor Maximilian and died not long after.

Margaret stayed to look after the duchy, vowing never to remarry. Francis Lovell was a good man, he had proved himself loyal to the Yorks, but his time was over. Besides, why support a lost cause when she, her brother and his wife, had in their hands the most powerful tool of all. The tool that would put an end to the Tudor monarchy and restore the Yorks.

"I have been the only one who sat at my father's table while he bragged about his political machine, I was the only one who heard Warwick give entire day sermons, every time the same lectures, different words, but all the same." She said putting her wine goblet down. She looked to Mary, motioning for her to sit next to her. The enmity that had existed between them was gone now. They were all united under a common purpose –to overthrow the usurper and restore the true York heir to the throne.

"How long have you known I had the boy?" She asked her, going straight to the point.

"Not long. I suspected you had him after the queen of Castile evicted us." Mary confessed. She did not show her sadness to the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy at having left her mother's native country, most of all having to leave her. She would never get to hold her and sing songs to her in the same fashion she sang to her when she had been a child. She wondered, if she had told Isabel who she was, would she had let her stay? Highly unlikely. Her grandmother would have thought her mad and her husband, the same; in the less likely of cases that she did, she would have thought of it as the product of witchcraft.

"How is the _mighty_ queen these days? I hear she still covers her head –like a nun. Ha!" She chortled. "Nobody can fool me. The Castilian queen was never going to give us aid." She said. "She is just as the others. No one will help England but those around her."

"Except you." Edmund told his sister, he'd been standing long enough. Before his legs gave up on him, he sat in the spare chair, facing Mary and Margaret. He gave long, tired sigh. He was not what he once was. Mary saw it. He was tired of running, tired of seeking help. At times he wished he could just rest and look back with pride in his heart at his past days of glory; but Mary would not have it. And neither would he. Deep down, he wanted to avenge his brother and his nephew Edward, who was still prisoner in the tower, as much as Margaret wanted. "When do you plan to strike sister?" He asked, coming straight to the point as she. "Not soon, I hope." He said. He and Mary had just arrived to Burgundy, they were both exhausted and it was a miracle their daughter, Joan, had survived their voyage.

Margaret shook her head. They would do no such thing. With no children of her own and her stepdaughter dead, Edmund's daughter was the only light in her world, that and plotting the usurper's downfall.

"No, first that usurper must lose half his forces to that baker's son." She said.

"We will help any way we can." Mary said. Margaret thanked her, then said "Do you want to see him?"

"Now?" Mary asked. She was surprised she would show them their nephew so soon after they arrived.

Margaret saw the fear in her eyes and waved her hand dismissively after she had ordered her servants to bring her nephew to them. "There is no one that knows but us 3. To all others he's just Perkin Warbeck, a boy his parents sent me to foster."

"Perkin Warbeck?" Edmund raised an eyebrow. "That's a handful of names. You could have chosen something less fanciful."

Margaret said nothing. The idea had not been hers. The door opened to reveal a young lad of twelve who curtsied to both his aunt and uncle, then his gaze shifted to Mary and both their eyes turned wide in recognition of one another. "Richard." Mary said, spreading her arms. Her nephew ran into them and said, "Aunt."

So it was true. Perkin Warbeck had not been a pretender, he had really been Richard, Duke of York.

And her grandfather hanged him like a common criminal. _Not this time._ Mary vowed she would do everything to save her nephew from that terrible fate.

"I missed you." She told him after she pulled away. She ran her fingers through his dark blond hair. "Look at you a grown man."

"Not yet." Margaret said. "First he has to marry then he has to take the throne."

Mary rose to her feet, resting her hand on her nephew's shoulder. "

"How will he achieve it? He's only a boy Margaret. Best run our luck with that pretender Lambert Simnel; if he wins we can expose him for the pretender he is, if he loses Henry Tudor will be so weak that the only remedy to fill his treasury will be raising taxes and that will make the people revolt. Why not let these things unfold? Henry is bound to fall one way or another, his dynasty will collapse all on its own."

"How many years should I wait uncle?" Richard asked. It was the first time he heard him speak since was a child of nine, which was also the age since he last saw him. "Four, five, maybe fifty? And then what? I will be an old man. My children will be old as well, the Tudor dynasty will be well established and I, too weak to reclaim it. The time is now uncle, either you are with me or against me but I will take back what is mine."

Edmund looked to his wife but she was just as determined as their nephew. "Are you sure of this?" He asked his nephew.

"Of course, he is. He is Edward's son, nothing is too impossible for him." Margaret answered for him.

He would not get through to any of them but it was too late to turn back now. He had pledged himself to the York cause since his brother was killed. And a part of him still wanted revenge for his sons in the tower.

Nodding, he turned his gaze to Mary. _Are you sure?_ His eyes asked her. "We might not live to see another day if we agree to this. This is treason, if we are caught both of us will be killed or imprisoned for life." He said. "Our daughter will be raised by others and to ensure her loyalty, Henry will marry her to one of his own, just as he's done with the other York girls."

"We must, it's what your brother would have wanted, it's what his namesake would have wanted as well. We must overthrow the usurper." Mary said decisively. She took his hands. "It's what I want, and I know it in your heart it's what you also want."

Mary was right. He wanted to avenge his sons' death but not this way. There had to be another way without making England bleed more than what both houses had already made her.

But he found no other way. This was the only way and if they died in the process to ensure the restoration of the York monarchy, then so be it.

"I will be with you all the way love." Edmund told her and embraced her. To his sister and nephew who waited expectantly for his answer he said, while still holding his wife. "Whatever you need, I will give." He withdrew from his wife and turned around. He bent the knee to his nephew. "I pledge myself to you nephew, my king."

Richard's twisted smile reminded him so much of Elizabeth Woodville, the woman he had condemned for so many years and now ironically, was bowing to her son. The boy lifted his hand and placed on his uncle's shoulder. "Rise uncle, you shall be my commander and while I am your king I will see that you and your family shall be amply rewarded for your services and as for my sister, I vow I shall give her son the title of Richmond when this war is over."

"Your Grace." Edmund said, rising to his feet and bowing his head.

To Mary, Richard only said, "I promise you aunt, you and mother shall sit by my side when I am king and before my wife, you shall be the highest women in the land."

Mary said a small 'thank you.' Richard and his aunt dismissed them and they returned to their chambers where Joan was sleeping peacefully in her crib. Mary lifted her up and kissed her forehead. She squirmed but it didn't last as soon as she heard her father's voice. "You are lucky Joan." She whispered in her ear after her father had gone. "You will never know hate or hardship. You will always be loved because you have two parents that love you and will do anything for you, and a family that will never abandon you." It's more than I can say for my father. Whatever the outcome was, Joan would be safe. She would grow under the mentorship of her aunt, and in any case she got sent to England, she would grow as the privileged sister of the Duke of Rutland. Arthur would see to it that she was well cared for.

She pushed her curly dark red hair aside, away from her eyes, and kissed her one more time before she went to join her husband I their private chambers.


	25. Chapter 25

**Thanks to everyone at the forums and for great information regarding the books and series the White Queen is based on and last but not least on giving information on the period, the sources I used are listed in previous chapters. Thanks to all my reviewers and keep reviewing.**

* * *

"_The more people you love, the weaker you are." Cersei Lannister_

1487

The younger Cecily, lady Welles, made fun, along with her younger sisters, of Cecily's dark clothing. "It's what the lady Richmond, the king's mother wears."

"Yes, but not all the time. You look like a nun!" Bridget, the youngest of the York girls said.

"You should be one to talk silly! You are going to be a nun." Anne of York, now lady Howard, exclaimed.

Bridget stuck her tongue out but the older Cecily paid her no heed. She and her siblings, the other York girls, were of no consequence to her. She made a small gesture with her hand as if dismissing them, but they only laughed. What was she but a brooding young mare, hiding her beauty away by those awful clothes?

The York sisters continued to mock her until Cecily gave a silly excuse, and the head of her older cousin's ladies, gave her leave.

As she made her way to her chambers, she found the king looking intently at her. "Your Grace. She said, curtsying to him.

"My lady Cecily, you forgot this." He showed her the ring in shape of a crown she'd gotten from the river.

"Silly me." She said. "Thank you, Your Grace. You really shouldn't have troubled yourself; I hate to think I took you away from important business."

"Nothing can be more important than tending family matters and by the look on your face, I think you needed my intervention."

"It's nothing that I can't handle. What? Did I say something funny?"

Henry shook his head, still smiling. He waved his hand. "No, but the expression on your face gives you away." She said nothing. "We have a lot in common lady Cecily. Let me escort you to your rooms, we can talk on the way. You know my lady mother wished us to marry in case, god forbid, something happened to our good lady Bess."

"Yes, I am aware of that. Thankfully, nothing did."

"Thankfully." Henry echoed, not too sure he was happy with the thought. "Here we are." He said and opened the doors. She was the first to step in, followed by him.

"His Grace is a gentleman."

"Are you surprised?" Henry asked chuckling.

"No, just curious. You never show others your charming smile, but you do show me."

"You think I am charming then?"

"Oh no, far from that." Cecily said, only seconds later as she heard the king chortle, did she realize her mistake.

"I thought you would say that. Nobody thinks the king of ice is handsome or charming. Why would you? A lady with so many prospects, you probably think me cold and unfeeling."

"It's not that Your Grace. I do think you are handsome, you have a great quality to make others bow to you before you speak, and your presence alone commands respect, but you hide yourself too often and that makes many think … the worst of you."

"Shouldn't the king be protected by the castle he built, lady Cecily?"

"He should but not at the expense of his people. They need to see you, to see their king. Otherwise you will be just another recluse, like the previous Henry. I am sorry if I speak out of place, but Your Grace asked me for my opinion and I gladly give it to him."

He smirked and walked to her. He placed his two fingers on her chin and raised her head. His mother wrote to him during his exile in Brittany to beware of the lady Elizabeth. She said she and her mother came from a long line of witches and they had to beware of their magic. He was not much of a believer. God, the saints, magic, it was all a big lie to him. But when his eyes first gazed at the lady who would be his wife, he realized everything his mother had warned him about was true. The lady Elizabeth was alluring and she was beautiful beyond a doubt, but behind those sky blue eyes, hid a monstrous ambition that if he didn't control now, would tear his kingdom just as her mother had done before her when she was Edward's queen.

He was guilty of harboring these ill thoughts about his present wife, but he could not help them when his eyes had set on the greater woman standing beside her, her cousin, lady Cecily Plantagenet. The eldest daughter of Edmund Plantagenet and Mary Hill. He did not know what was it about her that made men stop in their tracks when they gazed at her, until she saw her. He knew then, that fate had designated her to be his queen. He had argued with his mother she would be a better choice but his mother was very adamant that he fulfill his promise to marry Elizabeth of York that in the end Henry was left with no choice but to marry her.

That was the saddest day in Henry's life. He loved Elizabeth, as a friend, a confidante, a sister, but not as a wife. And she tried. His wife tried very hard to please him but nothing was ever enough. Even their son. His dynasty was secure with that boy she'd given him, Arthur, but it was still not enough. Henry wanted more, and not just lands and money, he wanted what he had always wanted since he was exiled to Brittany. Love.

"You should go to your wife, Your Grace." Cecily said, putting the ring in her finger, looking away from Henry Tudor.

"Why do you always do that? Look away when someone is talking to you, I see you do it with the other young men in court. And I feel very comfortable staying here, besides the queen is heavy with child, she will give birth to our next son, a duke of York to counter the threat of that so called Duke of York." He said then asked her. "Do you think he is really Richard of Shrewsbury, your cousin?"

"I would not know Your Grace. My younger sisters, especially Angelique who was betrothed to him, might be able to tell him. I was not well acquainted with my York relations."

"Why not? And you haven't answered my other question."

"I don't know. I was never their friend, they considered me too proper, too quiet." Some of them still do. "And to answer your other question, no, I do not do that often. When my uncles were kings, I did not do it."

"Why now, then?"

"Because I don't like others looking at me like I am a prize to win. When the Plantagenet dynasty ruled Your Grace, I was not an old relic, but rather something to be admired, now I am a prize to be won. It is only a matter of time before Your Grace gives me away to one of them."

"And what makes you think I will?"

"Because Your Grace wants to be secure and because although I have no lands of my own, you will grant whoever wins me over, lands and titles."

"You judge me very harshly."

"As do your courtiers Your Grace." She returned. Her eyes set on his, they were as cold as his but to her surprised he responded with a grin. He withdrew his fingers and sat on the sette were he tapped on the cushion. She sat next to him. "I only speak the truth. The former royals have been married by Your Grace and so have all of my sisters except for myself and my youngest sister, Angelique who can't wait to be married."

Both chuckled at this. "You think I should marry you then?"

"I think you should do whatever is convenient to you, Your Grace."

"What is convenient to me is to see all of my wife's family content, and that includes you. We are family after all, we all share common ancestors."

"That is true but," she paused, "your courtiers think of me as a prize and as I've already told Your Grace, I am not a prize to be won. Whoever you hand me to, I shall marry but I will never be content with."

"And who would you be content with?" He asked, sighing. It was hard to please this cousin of his wife's, but he secretly admired her for her defiance. Bess never spoke to him in such a way, although he heard from her ladies and his lad mother that he did to her own sisters and cousins. Mayhap he thought him too cold, but he saw no reason why a queen should be fearful of her husband. After all, he had treated her well and given her more than any husband ought to give his wife.

"I do not know, I only know that I shall know the right man when I see it."

"And how will you know?"

"I just will." She said standing up and going to her bedchamber. She whirled around. "God has given me a mind You Grace, He and only He will guide me to the man that I am to marry. I only hope that the man god has chosen for me is a man worthy of me."

'_A man worthy of me.'_ The words echoed in Henry's head as she closed her chamber doors.

He exited her chambers and sighed. _You are a fool Henry Tudor_. He heard his uncle's voice in his head. _For falling in love with that girl. What has she done for you? Wasn't it your lady mother who told you not to do anything out of gain or want? What could you gain with this creature? What could you possibly want from her that is not lust?_

_I don't know._ He responded. He only knew that he was the one thing he found himself wanting more than anything else in his life and by god, he swore, he would get it.

* * *

Elizabeth of York went into labor on June 27th, her child was born eighteen hours later n June28th. But the ordeal was not over, as soon as the baby slid from her body, she was hit by a second pain.

"There is another." Said the youngest of the York girls, Bridget, who had taken religious orders last winter, "Push, Your Grace, push!"

Elizabeth did all she could and thank god, she thought, ironically the first thought she had ever given to the almighty; her mother was there, but it was not enough to help her with the pains of childbirth. This was her second pregnancy and it had yet again proven how weak she was. Many boasted they had given birth more than twelve times, her grandmothers Jacquetta of Luxemborg, lady Rivers and Duchess Dowager Cecily Neville, among them. But Elizabeth had neither inherited their strength or their wits, and her patient was also thinning as the child refused to leave his mother's womb.

"You must push, it will be over soon." Her mother said encouragingly. The queen shut her eyes and began to cry. God, she prayed to the almighty her mother had refused to acknowledge many times, please help me. Please deliver me from this evil.

Why do women have to go through this pain? The young Tudor queen and former York princess wondered. She did not realize she had spoken those thoughts aloud. Several of her women shook their heads at her faithlessness as she continued to curse the pains that god sent women as punishment for their ancestress Eve taking the apple from the garden of Eden and coaxing Adam to eat it.

"Make it stop please!" She begged, screaming from the top of her lungs.

Her cousin Cecily, held her other hand and she secretly wished her cousin's pain would stop as well. As if god heard their prayers, the child finally came out. He slid from her legs and the midwife brought it to her chest where the baby clung, clutching her robes, immediately seeking warmth.

"What is it?" The queen dowager asked, quick to want to know everything. This was after all her third grandchild, and if it was another boy she would stand by the Tudor regime, no matter if she liked Margaret of Richmond or not. But if this was a girl just like the first twin, she would support her son Richard, who was the true heir of the York dynasty and the rightful kin of England.

As it happened, the wheel of fortune rose once again in Henry Tudor's favor. "It's a boy." One of the midwives said.

Elizabeth, the queen dowager smiled. "You hear that child, you have given birth to another son, you have secured your position and once we write a letter to your brother, he will not have to invade England. The Woodville dynasty can continue through your sons. Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth of York had her eyes opened but she heard nothing and said nothing. The former queen touched her forehead then her neck to check for any sign of life but there was none.

Elizabeth shook her daughter several times and slapped her to gain a response from her but nothing.  
She wrapped her arms around her darling girl and cried. "Inform His Grace." Viscountess Welles, the queen's sister, Cecily, said to one of her companions who nodded and scurried off to find the king.

* * *

Elizabeth of York was interred in the new chapel that king Henry VII had constructed in Westminster Abbey. More as improved some said. As it was customary, the king did not attend the funeral but instead sat brooding in his throne room. No one visited him that day, not even his ministers. His lady mother was there of course, but she did not speak a word to him. Instead she gave him a look of reprieve.

Henry showed no expression. Elizabeth of York was dead and yet strangely, he could not think of the event as anything more than a state tragedy. He did not feel like he had been struck in the heart or any personal tragedy. Did that make him cold?

No. He had never felt any attachment with Bess, she was the mother of his children, his queen, his consort, nothing more. Truth was, he had a hard time grieving Bess. The only reason why he became a recluse was because he could not fathom living a life without a queen, without consort, without someone to love and admire him as Bess had done.

He turned towards his mother. His expression stayed the same, his voice was as cold and neutral, and his tone as calculating as his mother's, "I know what you are thinking mother, and you are right, I cannot stay this way for long.

"Of course you can't. You mustn't. You are after all the king of England and yes, Elizabeth was beautiful and a good wife, she gave you two sons, but she is gone and you still have a war to fight." She said. "This war with Perkin must be won; otherwise everything she gave you would have been for nothing."

Henry said nothing. He knew his mother spoke the truth. He had the war with Perkin, another contender, to fight but in the back of his mind something spoke to him of lady Cecily, his wife's cousin's words on that fateful day he had visited her chambers.

'_A man worthy of me.'_

Elizabeth was gone, she was of his wife's age and not yet married, and hadn't his mother considered her for a possible bride? Perhaps …

His thoughts were cut off by his mother's strict voice. "He will meet the same end as the other imposter. Everyone swears that he is he real Richard of York, but you and I know better." Lady Richmond's voice was stained with doubt as she remembered the Woodville woman's last words she said to her doctor, Lewis, when he last visited her in her sanctuary at Westminster Abbey. _It's not Richad._

Richard or not, he would meet the same end as Lambert Simnel. If not ridiculed and turned into the king's cook, he would be hanged, drawn, and quartered until he confessed he was not Richard. His spirit would be broken; she would make sure of that.

Henry turned away from his mother. "He will." Henry agreed. He had vowed to safeguard his dynasty against all traitors and pretenders. "I shall write an edict explaining his true identity and who his true parents are and where they come from." He said.

Margaret noted he was not looking at her, his mind was somewhere else and as the majordomo arrived bringing the person he had called for, she realized on what.

"Lady Cecily you grace us with your presence." Henry started gesturing to sit in the throne next to her.

She curtsied to both lady Richmond, the king's mother and the king himself before taking her seat.

"Your Grace, my lady."

Henry and Cecily glanced at each other, it was as if they had a secret agreement and the way her son treated her, offering her to sit in Bess' chair! Outrageous! Could it be?

No. Henry was not a man to fall for a pretty face but there it was. The proof was undeniable, her son was falling for this woman and what was worse she knew it.

Her mind started to work fast. They had to get rid of this pretender. Richard or not, they had to for her son's sake and their dynasty's sake. And just then as they began to talk, forgetting that Margaret was there, a plan began to form in her mind.

It was after all her mother who said that only a Lancaster can love another Lancaster and in the case of her son's dynasty, the Tudors –only a Tudor could be good enough.

She hid her smile and left the throne room quietly. Let Elizabeth Woodville plot. Now that her daughter was gone, she would go back to plotting. Her daughter was after all gone and she did not doubt that that woman would kill her own grandsons just to see Richard on the throne. After all, both were the same, with one exception. Margaret, if she had a daughter, would not strike her and her children down.

She left the room quietly, closing the doors behind. As she reached her chambers, she began writing a letter in which she left all of her inheritance, in case –god forbid- this pretender stole the throne from her son, to her descendants, Arthur, the Prince of Wales, the twins Margaret and Henry, the true Duke of York, and last but not least to her intended son's bride, Cecily and her heirs –if she and Henry had any and were married by the time Perkin attacked.

She signed Margaret R. Margaret Regina. She folded the letter and stamped the royal seal which her son had given her permission to use and gave it to her personal chaplain whom she had called as witness.

"My lady." John Fisher said and Margaret waved her hand, dismissing him. He would die protecting her inheritance and that of her heirs. She knew this; the man was loyal to a fault.

* * *

Mary mourned for her grandmother's death in her own way, however she could no longer feel any attachment to the Woodville branch since she discovered that it was their curse, their doing that caused her mother all those miscarriages and her brother, the new year baby's early death.

_I thought they were my friends._

'_Love no one but your children, the more people you love the weaker you are'_ –her mother had told her, it was a lesson she said she learned from her mother, the queen of Castile.

Ninety years, nearly a century it took her to learn that it wasn't true, that in the end there was nobody she could trust but herself.

They will pay._ They will __**all **__pay_, Mary swore. But unlike her great grandmother, Elizabeth Woodville who believed she was on her side, Mary would use the greatest asset she had, her wisdom, and all the knowledge she had accumulated over the century to win this war and finally give her mother, her stepmothers, and all the people the Woodvilles had wronged, peace.


	26. Chapter 26

**Thanks everyone for your reviews. Keep reviewing. Thank to Vader's mistress and Mimi dubois for helping me with details for this chapter. Some parts were inspired by Game of thrones third season.**

**Enjoy!**

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_"I will hurt you for this. The day will come when your joy turns to ashes and you will know the debt is paid "-Tyrion Lannister._

1488-1490

"Lady Catherine is dead, Your Grace." Mary told her nephew. It was hard seeing this boy, a young man of fifteen so fragile and weak. This is the boy who would have usurped her grandfather's throne, who would have restored the York monarchy and returned England to the old days when his father's rule as absolute.

She was not going to let that happened. True, she did not want the return of the Tudor monarchy but the restoration of the York monarchy meant a return to the old days when the Woodvilles reigned supreme and the country was torn in a bloody civil war between two bands, the white and the red rose.

The Tudors were the best thing she got to oust the Woodvilles, and if it meant abandon her principles and her oaths of loyalty to Elizabeth then so be it. She was tired of playing nice, of being loyal, of being the one everyone used to get what they wanted. Now she was going to get what she wanted. Her daughter was going to be queen and furthermore she was going to give birth who would be in the coming century, the future king of England –and the greatest England ever had –she told herself.  
An inward chuckle escaped her lips when she returned to her chambers where Edmund was waiting. He was holding their daughter Joanna. "What are you so happy about? You should be mourning; lady Catherine is dead."

"I know, but it's a new opportunity to make a new alliance."

Edmund sighed. He put Joanna in her basinet. "Sometimes Mary, you scare me. I don't know who is more ambitious, you or my brother's wife."

Mary smiled and kissed his cheek.

"And who do you plan to marry him now if I may ask?"

"You may." Mary said amusedly. She briefly remembered her previous husband, Philip of Spain. He never asked for her opinion, when he wanted her to give it to him it would be only so he and his friend, Ruy Gomez da Silva would mock her. She had no love for Philip but she understood her duty, she knew she had to be a queen of ice, a queen regnant who put duty first, love later. But she was also a woman and as a woman she desired to be loved more than anyone. When Philip left her she cried a thousand tears for him, not because she loved him but because she considered him the only man worthy to give her children.

A child with Spain would represent one of the greatest alliances that were ever forged, England she was determined would make a vassal out of Spain since Philip's firstborn was an idiot and a hunchback. He could never be king; her son would displace him. But fate –or rather her great grandmother- had other ideas.

She would never forgive her. Mary would follow her to the ends of the earth and hunt down every Woodville, every pretender until her darling daughter, her sweet Cecily was on the throne. And only she would give the Tudors and the Yorks what she wanted. A true union between both houses.

"And who is the lucky woman then?" Asked Edmund, getting impatient with his wife's lack of response.  
Mary turned to him, still smiling. She said, "I don't know yet but I was thinking of Spain."  
He raised a skeptical eyebrow then threw his head back and let out a chuckle. "I don't think Sain would have us, not for all the gold in the world."

"On the contrary, you remember that Henry Tudor pledged to marry Anne of Brittany when rumors swelled about our niece's … indiscretions."

"You astound me. Henry married Elizabeth as he promised, and I don't think anyone believed those rumors." Even when they were true –but he kept this part to himself. "In any case, Spain has nothing to gain and everything to lose with this alliance and the Burgundian lords would never agree to it."

"Why? They want an alliance with Spain as well do they not?"

"Yes but they want an alliance for themselves, not for Richard or Perkin, whoever he may be. I honestly don't know any longer what is what with you and Margaret plotting with our sister in law from afar." He put his hands behind his head and extended his long legs. To Mary he still seemed handsome, but to him who knew himself better than anyone, he knew he wasn't. He stopped being handsome since the Yorks lost the throne. It seemed like a curse on their family. Every time a York brother got involved in a Woodville plot, everything spelled ruin. And his late brother's wife was more adamant than ever to restore the York monarchy since his niece had died.

He often wondered if she really was a witch and she wasn't casting spells right now as they spoke against their daughter Cecily for catching the king's eye. He hoped not, not for Cecily's sake for he knew his daughter was like her namesake, strong, proud and protected by god; but for her sake because if something happened to his daughter and any of her future offspring he swore he would not rest until he hunted every Woodville down.

"You and her are getting into a war that will end up costing us more than we bargained and it could cost my sister her power."  
"The lords love her, they would never conspire against her."

"Do not be so sure, when Henry Tudor was in Brittany many lords conspired against him, just as many Burgundy lords conspired against my brother when he was here seeking asylum when the mad king Henry recovered his throne."

"That was long ago. Your sister is Regent now. They love and respect her and Richard is the true king."

"Is he? Everyone in England has been circulated this god awful rumor he isn't and between you and me I would rather believe the Tudors at the moment than my late bother's woman."

"You never considered her your brother's wife but she is the only one with a York heir at the moment. Arthur is entirely lady Richmond's now and any son we have will always be seen as a second son, next to Richard he will be no one. He is the best hope we have."

"Why do you hate the Tudors so much Mary? I never understood that hatred."

"You know why. I know that lady Richmond took our sons' lives."

"No, it's more than that. I can see it in your eyes, you hate them with every fiber of you being more than my brother's woman. Why?"

Mary pursed her lips. She could not tell him the truth. He would think her insane. Why did she hate them? They took the best years of her life, turned her happiness into sorrow. Displaced her mother from her rightful place as his father's queen and placed that concubine on the throne, then made that concubine's daughter her rival and turned her against her, and crowned her queen. They were nothing but vermin, she wanted their seed erased from the face of the earth but she could not bring herself to kill them because part of her hatred stemmed from the curse the Woodville –her friends –she thought bitterly- placed on them.

Did Jacquetta know? Of course she did. She had to know. When she befriended Mary it was her intention to get her as an ally so her daughter's curse could work. The woman knew everything about everyone.

_Not this time Jacquetta_. Mary believed in second chances and while Jacquetta convinced her that she was brought here to aid her and Elizabeth, Mary realized that her arrival was the goddess' doing to rectify their wrongdoing.

"I do not know why, I just know that I hated them ever since our sons disappeared, ever since Elizabeth pointed the blame at them. I knew as she did when Richard came to us that it was not he. I hate them because of what they did, what they stole from us, but most importantly what they stole from me. I can never forgive them."

"What if they were to grant you a pardon."

"I would refuse it. Why do you ask?" Mary asked, suspicious her husband was keeping something from her.

Edmund shook his head. "No reason in particular, I merely ask out of curiosity. If they were to pardon you, me and our daughter, would you go back?"

Mary thought about this hard. Of course she wanted to go. She wanted to see her daughter married, dressed in white and turned queen but if she did then Elizabeth would know she was being betrayed and she would not forgive her. As favored as Mary was by their divine ancestor, Elizabeth possessed a magic and a rage that made it all the more stronger and it scared her. She had to tread carefully.

She finally answered with a low voice, "No. My future in England was when your brothers were kings, now there is none. If Richard is king mark my words I would go back, but until then I will stay here." She got closer to him. "Would you?"

"I go wherever you go. If you want us to stay here then we will stay."

"Even if we don't succeed?"

"Wherever you go Mary." He repeated looking intently at her. Dark grey met sky blue. He cupped her face. "Do you think he has a chance of winning?"

"I don't know … Perhaps but only time will tell."

"The wheel of fortune." He guessed. "I could never understand that concept, neither could my mother. My father tried in vain to lecture me and my brothers about it but Margaret was the only one who listened." He paused.

"Do you miss him?"

"I think of him every idea. The day the bitch of Anjou came I thought it was the end, it was by some miracle I managed to escape. Something must have warned my father, he seemed to know beforehand. He told me he had a dream where we both died, told me to flee to Dover and find a ship that would take me to my brother." His eyes were thoughtful as he reminisced. Something had saved him that day, he always thought it was superstition but he began to think that the real reason why he was alive was more than fate but something or someone –a guardian angel or the Lord himself- was responsible for saving him. "Then I found you and we boarded that ship and found my brother and when we took on our enemies for three straight years I wondered if the prophecy was true, if the three suns everyone claimed they saw in the sky for three York brothers meant the eldest, me, George, and Edward who would go on to die and live for many years, one after the other in that exact order as men chanted of our victories. Everyone said we were the suns in splendor, the suns that couldn't be eclipsed."

Mary placed a hand on his shoulder. "It can still happen. Richard could be the third sun. Edward was the first York king, then Richard, and now this Richard."

"I wish I could believe you Mary but I cannot trust my late brother's woman, I just can't. Everyone knew that his marriage to Elizabeth would spell doom to our father's dream, everyone saw it except Edward. He believed in love more than he believed in his country. For him love was everything. He lost our family a whole country because of his fancy."

"You shouldn't call it that. You married me knowing my lineage was more common than her and had it not been for your brother setting up the precedent you and I would have never been."

"Much good it did to us. We were the object of everyone's mockery and we still are or do you think I don't hear what my sister's lords whisper behind our back?"

Mary used to care what other people said. What was it that her father's second wife, Anne Boleyn, had said? If you start caring too much for what others say of you, your identity gets lost. Mary did not care what people said of her anymore. She lived her life by others rules and she ended up losing everything –the people's love, her popularity and lastly, her throne.

"People can say whatever they please. It should not affect you. You are the brother of two kings, the son of the Duke of York, your son is the Duke of Rutland and your nephew will soon be king. When Henry Tudor's armies are destroyed and we take back the country, you will be given your father's title and you will be the highest man in the land after the king." She pushed his hands from her face and guided them to her belly. "And the next one to come after Joanna will be the next one to carry on your title as Duke of York." She said lastly with a smile.

"You mean …" She nodded her head before he could finish his sentence.

"That is wonderful Mary. Since when?" He could not believe his fortune. First the prospect of his family line and the York monarchy being restored –albeit through the Woodville line- and now his wife pregnant, with child again. It was too much joy!

"Last week, I could not wait to tell you but with Catherine Gordon's death, it would have been cruel if I had so I waited until tonight."

"We should celebrate." Edmund said and Mary agreed. She told him the secret escape the former queen was planning.

"When she comes, we will tell her and she will be godmother along with your sister Margaret to our child. It will be a boy, I can feel it."

"I don't care if it's a boy, all I care is that it is healthy and that you are with me to grow old and raise all our children." He kissed her and she responded to the kiss, deepening it.

She knew there was nothing he wouldn't do for her, he would sacrifice his soul for her if necessary. He was the ideal husband and Mary the ideal wife and she had seen it in a dream that this next child would be born healthy and she would survive the birth and go on to have more children.

The only thing her dreams had not told her and Mary found until later was that she carried another daughter. She gave birth at the end of winter. Her last daughter was named Jane in honor to her father's third wife, Jane Seymour, whom Mary had fond memories of. Her godmothers were Elizabeth and Margaret, the first who had arrived to Burgundy last week.

She was overjoyed as Mary to have another healthy York offspring, and more so because she was a girl and therefore no threat to her York boy Richard.

Mary was a bit disappointed it had not been a boy, but she knew everything was for a reason and maybe this girl meant something special.

Jane reminded her so much of Cecily, her firstborn and eldest daughter. They had the same reddish brown hair and blue colored eyes and their skin was just as fair, but whereas Cecily's features were angular and gave her a more serious outlook, Jane's were rounder and her full lips gave the impression of a sweetness that her oldest sister did not posses unless she feigned it.

"Give her to me." Elizabeth asked Mary though to Mary it sounded more like a command.

She handed her daughter to her great grandmother. The child settled comfortably in her great great grandmother's arms. Elizabeth brought the girl closer to examine her, as if checking if she would not be a future rival to her present daughters' beauty but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Elizabeth, a woman who cared more about beauty and ambition more than everything else, saw in this little girl nothing significant. She was completely insignificant yet she did possess some things in her favor like her beauty which Elizabeth believed would be of good use for when Richard had a son. They could marry her grandson to this niece of hers and if Mary kept having more girls as Elizabeth suspected she would, then the future princes of England's futures would be settled.

After she was done, she gave Jane back to her mother. "She is very beautiful." The former queen said, "You should be thinking of future husbands for her and Joanna. There will be many eligible bachelors when Richard becomes king. I am sure you have noticed as I have that my son is destined to be king."

Just as Mary had predicted, Elizabeth's question was coming.

"If my son remarries son and he has a son, there wouldn't be much of an age difference between my grandson and your niece." Elizabeth said.

Mary sat on an empty chair in the middle of the room and rocked Jane gently, humming her a lullaby she used to sing to her older daughters.

"Your daughter would be queen of England. A true queen." _Unlike your oldest daughter, Henry's queen to be._

Mary did not miss the omission.

"Surely you can see the benefits of such a union."

"I can and while I wish to see the York monarchy restored, I cannot support my daughter, any daughter to be anyone's queen."

Elizabeth smiled at her sister in law's naivety. _Whatever you say my lady_. In the end, it will be as Elizabeth wished.

* * *

The days dragged on. Mary had another child, a girl. First Joanna, then Jane and now another one.

Only girls. The goddess was sending her a message –she would not have another boy until her vengeance was complete. Yet, she could not have her vengeance until al Tudors and Yorks were dead. Her daughter would help her complete her vengeance. After all, who could love a Tudor but another Tudor?

Cecily will have a boy. Mary told herself. She must.

Cecily was after all a Tratasmara, a Tudor, and through Mary's mother and her husband, a York through and through. Her children will bear the last name Tudor but they will be York.

Blond heads, reddish brown, blue, sapphire eyes, it didn't matter, as long as the York monarchy was restored and all her enemies perished.

She briefly wondered if she was becoming as Elizabeth Woodville by muttering this curse. No. She shook her head. She was better than Bess Woodville, she was Mary Tudor, first queen regnant of England in her time, she was high above those people and she would not fail.

* * *

"Edmund could you please help me with Richard's tunic?" Mary brushed the specs of dirt of her nephew's clothing. He was going to be formerly crowned today by all the bishops in Burgundy. The people in the Duchy who trusted the Duchess Dowager, Margaret of York, with their lives also trusted her judgment.

There wasn't any doubt on anybody's mind that this was Richard, Duke of York –the legitimate heir to the English throne and soon to be king.

Edmund sighed. He didn't understand why he should help his wife with such a menial task. "You still haven't told me if Elizabeth gave her consent for the Spanish union."

"She hasn't but she will. I will convince her of it." Mary said, very sure she would.

Edmund raised his eyebrows, he was about to say something when he decided against it and threw his hands in the air. "I give up Mary, you and Elizabeth do whatever you wish."

"It's not that we don't want to tell you Edmund but this is a delicate matter and since Elizabeth escaped Henry Tudor's clutches, we must not make haste and ensure our rightful king has the union that can promise him the throne."

"I still don't know why you should trust Elizabeth. I get that you needed her when my brother was alive so she could help the other lords approve of our union, but I don't understand why should you trust her now? My brother has long been dead, it's been almost a decade, we don't need her. We can go back to England and –"

"And what? Watch how our daughter is turned Henry Tudor's mistress?"

"That's not what I meant." Edmund said. Sitting next to her, he swung his arm around her and brought her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder. "I want you and the girls to be safe, you are all that matters to me. Believe me sweetheart if I had any pretentions to the throne or wanted to kill that Welsh usurper, don't you think I wouldn't have done it by now? I only want what is best for you, I hate Henry Tudor as much as you do but your safety is first and Elizabeth Woodville and her son will only lead us to a war we will not win."

Mary believed in his prediction, however she said, "The Woodvilles have been through worse and they've always been known for coming on top. They will and when they do, we will be back in England and Cecily will be with us."

* * *

Her prediction wasn't true.

Henry started to have prophetic dreams about the future. What was meant to be, how many children he would have, the curse placed on his family. He knew what he must do.

In a move that surprised everyone, he and Cecily wed in secret. His mother and Cecily's younger sister and cousin, lady Angelique and former princess of York, Bridget –who was now a nun-, were the only witnesses.

Margaret was not one to believe in superstition but what had she done in the tower would not be forgotten by the highest power, god. The Lord would seek vengeance on her house. She didn't believe that witch demon and her demonic ancestress Melusine would wreak havoc on them, their powers were not match for god but the Woodville woman still had many supporters and many of them who hated her, would rather support her and her false Duke of York, just to see the Tudor monarchy crushed. It was imperative her son marry again so he could give the Tudor dynasty more heirs.  
More heirs meant more sons and more sons meant true stability. If one thing Margaret had learned from her mother is this –you were nothing without a good marriage and sons.

The ceremony ended and in the same fashion as her uncle and ancestor, Edward IV of York, Henry took his secret bride to a secret room for their consummation.

Cecily had used the ring she'd gotten from the river, a golden ring in form of a crown with silver designs of roses with thorns around it representing the house of York. He had used the other she'd taken from the river on himself. She lied to him and told him it belonged to her namesake. She knew he was proud, he would never ask her lady grandmother whether this was true or not, but more than that he loved her and trusted her. He did not doubt her word.

They had gotten a dispensation from the pope in a secret papal court where Cardinal Morton acted as their spokesperson enumerating the many virtues she had. It took him only two minutes to convince His Holiness to issue a dispensation. Kings and queens had married for less, and the Yorks and the Lancasters were all cousins and Henry had married his cousin, what was the problem in marrying his wife's first cousin?

Cecily was happy to be his wife. She had been praying for this day for as long as she could remember. When her mother took her to the river, somehow her lady mother knew that this was what awaited her. Her aunt and former queen, the queen dowager, Elizabeth Woodville had hurt her. After her mother discovered her betrayal, she created her own curse, one so powerful it would not only take the lives of the queen dowager's remaining sons, Grey and York, but prolong her lifespan to experience the pain and agony her mother and his father's wives and mistresses all experienced when they witnessed their sons' deaths.

_It all comes full circle the wheel of fortune rises again and I rise with it,_ Cecily told herself as she lay on the bed, Henry Tudor's arms wrapped around her tiny waist. _My lady aunt made the grave mistake of trifling with forces she couldn't understand, and her son Richard, made the other grave mistake of trifling with Henry Tudor._

Tudors were hard to kill, her cousin would soon find out. They were hard and made of ice, but she was fire and she possessed the same determination as her mother and namesake who had once been queen in all but name until her aunt, lady Woodville came in and usurped her position.

* * *

At the spring of 1490 Perkin's forces were being readied. He was without a woman, without a country, without an heir but all that would change today if he won. He gambled everything. It had all come down to this. If he lost, it would prove his mother's powers were nothing more than superstition but if he won, Elizabeth and the remaining Woodvilles would be in power again. Her daughters would be restored to their status of princesses; their brother would see to it that it was done and when he was crowned, he would annul all of their marriages to marry them to princes and Dukes as befit their station as royal princesses of the blood.

Margaret of York, George of Clarence's girl, would join her brother in the tower. Elizabeth didn't trust her. Mary was a fool to believe that a daughter of George, Duke of Clarence could be of any use. She was George's girl and furthermore a Neville girl and Elizabeth's hatred for the Nevilles took deep root in her, her years at the Abbey had not expunged it from her soul.

And then, when all her enemies were brought to trial and executed, she did not told Mary this but she would have lady Cecily, Mary's ungrateful daughter, brought to her knees and confess whatever crimes Elizabeth told her to confess. She never liked that girl, she was unlike her Cecily who was fair and sweet. This girl was too much like her namesake, lady Cecily, the Duchess Dowager of York. Elizabeth had no place for her in her son's government. She knew the girl had airs of making herself queen, thankfully that will never happen, she had seen it in a vision. Every son of the house of Tudor would die and York would live.

Elizabeth smiled, feeling herself young again as she, Mary, Edmund, boarded the ship that would spearhead the invasion. She could feel the power of Melusine cursing through her veins. She would summon another witch's win, this one against Henry Tudor's forces as they tried to fight them off. She closed her eyes and said the words, when she opened them the winds had turned in their favor. They seemed to be going faster. Soon, she thought.

But then something unexpected occurred. Their sails broke, the ships that sailed behind them sank for no reason and others caught flame.

"Mother, what's going on? Mother?" Richard asked his mother but she gave no answer. She was just as perplexed.

"I-I don't know." She stuttered when another ship fell victim to whatever supernatural force was attacking them. "We must go back." She finally said. She saw the looks of disappointment in her son, Mary, and Edmund's face. "We must go back." She repeated. "There is nothing for us here, tell your men Richard to go back."

"No." Richard said doing all the opposite. He told the captain to keep sailing.

His mother grabbed his shoulder. "Richard listen to me, you will have no chance of winning, Henry's forces are too many. If you turn back now we can still make it to Burgundy and there will still be hope for us."

"You must listen to your mother on this Richard, she is right." Mary said. "You cannot win, Henry Tudor's forces outnumber you now ten to one. You've lost most of yours ships, it's better you leave."

Richard looked from his mother to his aunt. They were both right. He would not win, if they returned to Burgundy or in the worst case scenario, made it to the north coast, on his first wife's native land of Scotland, he might still have a chance of winning. Given time, he would assemble his forces, his aunt was fiercely loyal to them. She would send him money to buy weapons, ships, everything he needed.

The more he thought on this though the angrier he became. He did not want to be another king by the sea, another beggar king, living in fear and anxiety waiting for some miracle to happen like the stories he heard of his father's rival, prince Edward of Westminster and his she wolf mother, Margaret of Anjou. He wanted his crown now.

He shook his head and locked his eyes with his mother. His gaze bore heavily on her and more heavy would be his next words to her. "I am sorry mother but I can't, you have struggled hard and suffered many pains to see me crown, I will not fail you."

"I would rather see you live."

"I know but I cannot live as a beggar king. I must have my crown, it's that or nothing. Nothing else matters for me."

"It matters that much for you?"

"Yes."

Elizabeth's eyes fell. She clasped his hands. "Then we will go." She said and raised her eyes at her son. She had promised him victory and he would not leave without it; as his father, he was intent on fighting for his crown to the death.

"You will win." She swore. The seas were her divine ancestress domain and she would see to it that they safely landed.

* * *

They landed on Dover on the day of her cousin's birthday. Seventeen, a man now with his York supporters marching north to London.

Cecily stared out the window. They were coming, they believed in their souls they could overthrow the Tudor monarchy. Despair and hope drove people mad. What they didn't know was that Henry had made an alliance beforehand. Scotland for her stepdaughter Margaret, and a Spanish princess for her stepson Henry. For Arthur it would be France. Elizabeth Woodville was not aware of the betrayal. She claimed she had France and Burgundy on her side but truth was the Burgundy lords had staged a coup against their sovereign Margaret. They had grown tired of her, albeit her leadership had saved them in the past, she had outrun her use. Her war with England had bankrupted them, many of them began conspiring until with the bishops' aid they overthrew her and signed a join declaration that Richard, Duke of York was in fact Perkin Warbeck. They made up a story for him, a family that never existed and a new birth date, all of which Henry VII helped falsify with the aid of his mother and his bishops.

"You want to be queen?" Margaret Beaufort, lady Richmond asked as she saw her daughter in law to be hugging the coronation robes that her cousin and predecessor had wore.  
"No." She said slowly. Cecily then perked her head up to look at lady Richmond. "I want to be _the_ queen. Can you do that?"

"Leave everything to me." Margaret only said and left.

* * *

Her great grandmother's forces were captured before they stormed London. Henry's stepfather, being the wily fox he was, attacked them from behind. He and his brother had never been on good terms and his son hated the king, his stepbrother with every fiber of his being, so it did not come as a surprise to Bess when Lord Strange came to them and switched sides.

Mary warned her not to trust him, but Bess Woodville did not listen. Lastly as they marched to London and their soldiers began singing, lord Strange's men began to hum an old hymn. Only he, his men and (unbeknownst to everyone) Mary knew what the story was behind this hymn and that although being sang in English, it was originally sang in Welsh. Passed from generation to generation. Everything was ready.

"And so he spoke, so he spoke. And now there is not a soul to heart." When the queen dowager heard this line her mind began to wander and she searched for any mention of English legend that spoke of this ill fated family, the Rains but so far she found none, then as they approached the capital, the soldiers turned on them.

It was slaughter. Elizabeth screamed for Mary but Mary and her husband had been taken. "Richard!" She screamed, hoping against all despair that her son would be alive but as an arrow struck her, she fell.

There was an eerie silence followed by loud moans. The former queen of the York dynasty crawled to the source of the moans. There was her son. "Richard." She said taking her son in her arms. Somehow she found the strength to crawl all the way to where her son was and sooth him in his last moments.

"Mother ..." Richard said, his eyes unfocused. The color was draining from his face, he was lost without his mother. He had lost everything, his wife, his children, the miscarriages, his brother, his cousins, they were all part of god's divine plan against the Woodvilles, part of his divine retribution for meddling in magic and being the first to spill royal blood against one of their own.

His mother's divine ancestress would not help them now. "Mother ..." his voice began fading into the night. It was a long night, Elizabeth the hours drag on as she held her son and watched the other members of their party slowly fade.

Her son, being the true king that he was, clung to life. He whispered in her ear that he would not die until they did. He was a king and men needed to look unto great men like he, he would not abandon them.

He was the last one to die.

Elizabeth screamed as he gave his last breath. Damn you Henry Tudor! She screamed to the four winds, summoning all the powers of nature but nature didn't bend to her will this time.

It remained still and the witch's wind she previously summoned returned, hitting her this time and half of her son's army was blown away by that powerful wind, including herself.

What was left of their remains were picked up the following day. More than half of the body parts they found were incinerated. Henry Tudor did not want an outbreak of plague.

* * *

Mary and her husband were brought before the justice of the land.

"Lady Mary and lord Edmund Tudor, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

"You are accused of supporting a pretender and plotting against His Grace, I repeat, how do you plead and this time let your husband answer Madame."

Edmund answered, "Not guilty." but it did little difference. They were condemned, however Henry, who could not have his future queen's parents condemned as traitors, issued a pardon and ordered the former Duchess of Rutland to write to Burgundy, to her daughters' caretakers to bring them to England where they would be placed under the king and his new wife's custody.

* * *

"I suppose you are happy now mother." Cecily said when her mother and father were brought to her. Her marriage with Henry was announced. Everyone who previously mocked her now bowed to her. Her mother as well.

Her father was the first one to kneel followed by Mary, yet Mary's gaze remained fixed at her daughter. She was the granddaughter of the greatest kings in Christendom, she would not bow down her head for everyone, including her daughter.

"You got what you wanted. Justice."

I suppose I did. Mary thought. "You are a queen now. Henry Tudor's queen, it is god's will, His will alone and no one else's."

Her meaning was clear. A secret understanding passed between them as they stared at each other. Cecily nodded at her mother and bowed her head, giving the first sign of respect to the elder woman that she'd had since her mother lived and she was Princess of Wales.

"Thank you." Cecily said and bid her mother and father good night. They had done their part. Or at least her mother had. She supported Elizabeth Woodville, pretended to aid her, conspired with her and even agreed to wed her youngest daughter to any son Richard, Duke of York -No, she told herself, Perkin Warbeck, she had to think of him as Perkin Warbeck- might have. She played her part greatly and now it was time to retire.


	27. Chapter 27

**Thank you for reviewing, keep reviewing.**

**Inspired by game of thrones and sources listed in previous chapters.**

* * *

1490-1492

The following year after the birth of their firstborn son, Henry VII had the Earl of Warwick executed. Cecily could not save him; rather Mary suspected her daughter did not wish to. In reality Cecily did but her husband's mother 'My Lady the King's mother' was still as powerful as ever. She hated her. She was committed to throw that Richmond bitch from her seat of power.

"That seat belongs to me." She told her lady mother and she could not agree more.

"Nonetheless, we must be careful. You've given the king a son, rest and spend the rest of the year doing pilgrimages. Build hospitals, buy the poor's loyalty, it's your best weapon."

"You mean be everything you once were, mother?"

"Yes." Mary answered. Though much good it did her. The people revolted against her as soon as another Tudor girl walked in their midst. "You must remain beautiful, appearance for the wretched souls is everything but most of all, you must make yourself their goddess. If you make yourself into more than a woman then they will follow you blindly as they follow the Virgin."

"You think I can command their respect?"

"Yes, you must, otherwise you will give them a reason to hate you and hate your husband more and you don't want that." Mary cautioned.

Cecily did exactly as her mother told her. A month following her coronation, which was the following year of 1492 after her husband had executed Warwick and publicly pardoned Warwick's sister, Margaret Plantagenet who had been betrothed since to Sir Richard Pole whose mother was half-sister to the king's mother, lady Richmond; he publicly announced that he and his wife were expecting another child.

Cecily smiled at her triumph. She had seen it in the waters of the river Thames, it was another son. Shortly after they moved to Sheen palace now renamed Richmond, she entered confinement. Henry was extremely attentive of her; he watched over every single detail. Cecily was his wife, not just in name, but in everything else that Elizabeth of York, her predecessor and cousin, had not been. And Margaret Beaufort hated it.

She thought the girl would be easy to handle. She was submissive, she was obedient, observant of the church laws, and more than that, she knew her duties and took them more seriously than her cousin ever had –and her body was stronger. The Tudor dynasty would have many heirs from her. But she was also callous, watchful of her surroundings and conscious of the dangerous game she was playing. Nothing she did was by chance. She always had a plan. For the first time Margaret Beaufort stood side by side with someone she could call her equal.

It was ironic that her equal could be someone both of York and her family line, but it was to be expected, given who her mother was.

"Another boy," Margaret was the first to give the joyous news to her son while he was feasting with his stepbrother, lord Strange. Everyone was so sure the king would be blessed with another boy, they did not think twice when the king announced his wife had gone into labor and that they should celebrate it. When she confirmed it, everyone raised their goblets following the king, at His Grace.

"Another glorious day for our dynasty!" Henry shouted and everyone cheered with him.

The queen's place in history was undisputed now, she was queen not just in name but her power equaled that of no other, including that of her great great grandmother, Elizabeth Woodville who at one point with her family had ruled England through Edward IV and used others mercilessly turning their former enemies into their puppets.

Now it was her descendant and niece's turn to be the de facto ruler, to act through Henry, but unlike her aunt and longtime ancestors, the former queen of the Yorks, she would not make her mistakes. She had learned from Elizabeth Woodville how a queen ought to be, through her mistakes she knew what she must and not do. Her greatest teacher besides her namesake, the Duchess Dowager Cecily Neville who, god bless her, still lived, was her lady mother whom in her visions of her past she saw everything she had to go through to survive in her father's treacherous court, and she had also learned from her mistakes when she had been queen regnant.

"Your son, my lord," Cecily said, straightforward as always, thrusting the sleeping babe in his hands.

He was dark haired, fair skinned, angular face, with an aristocratic nose and he suspected dark eyed as well.

"What shall you name him?" Normally it was Henry but today he let her speak. It would be the first of many occasions he would let her because she was more than just a figurehead. She was his queen, his consort, and his second after his lady mother, _and soon_ –she thought- his equal.

"Edmund." She nodded her head, her eyes shined with ambition as he returned their son. He finally opened his eyes when he felt the warmth of his mother. His eyes were as Henry Tudor predicted, dark, the same dark grey as every Tudor.

"Edmund." She repeated her husband's choice of name. It was a worthy name. The same name her father bore and the name that had been given to Elizabeth of York's son in her mother's time before the York dowager queen's curse took him away as it took many of her lady grandmother and her successors' siblings.

* * *

Her father could not assist the christening. He was growing weaker. They were finally at peace, but so what if they were? He felt as an outsider. His son was all loyal to the Tudor monarchy and he hardly remembered his life prior to his former enemy's reign. Lady Margaret of Richmond had converted him and turned him into a devoted ally who saw no other purpose but to serve Tudor and currently he sought a private audience with the king because he wanted to be rewarded for his good services with a wife.

Edmund wished his son would have come first to him. He was a stranger to the court but he still retained his political knowledge, he was an old war horse and knew that marriages were nothing more than alliances between kingdoms, foreign houses, in his son's case noble houses.

There were many ladies at court who were new to his daughter's service that he could recommend to Arthur, even speak with Cecily to intercede on her brother's behalf, but his son refused his help.

He came three days after, informing him and his wife that the king had found a wife for him. "And who is this new mysterious daughter in law of ours? You've spoken of her like she was something to worship and judging by yours looks, she must be."

His wife slapped the back of his head. Stop it –her eyes said but he continued his teasing.

Arthur, a grown man by now, only fourteen but he was a head taller than his father and possessed his reddish brown hair –although it was darker- and his eyes albeit dark grey, they were the same shape and his facial expressions were the same as his father's. He smiled sheepishly, turning away, his cheeks blushing a deep red as his father continued to probe him.

"You won't like it." He said when he turned to face him again.

Edmund knitted his eyebrows. "Why not? Any woman who accepts my son cannot be that bad."

"This might be." He mumbled hoping they hadn't heard but they had and they pressed him harder for it. Arthur revealed to them at once. "Sancia of Aragon."

At once his parents' face darkened, especially his father's. He found his voice. "You mean of Naples."

"No, Aragon." Arthur said firmly. He knew his parents would have trouble with this arrangement but Henry needed this alliance and the king promised to pay for the wedding, and he was part royal too through his father, even if she was a bastard, she was more than suited to be his bride.

"Her father is king Alfonso II of Naples and her mother-"

"Is not his queen" Edmund finished for him.

Mary folded her hands on her lap. She was seated next to her husband. Arthur seated in another armchair, facing them.

"I know she would not be your first choice but the king approves."

"The king? Ten years ago you said you'd rather kill any man that was not York now suddenly he is the king." Edmund protested throwing his hands in the air. He knew his son would have to marry someone noble and loyal to the house of Tudor but a bastard, even a royal one, was an insult to his great and noble house of York.

"He is the king, father and he's asked me to marry this girl. He's not commanded me but he's asked me. He trusts me and if he wants me to marry her I will. I have already told him so."

Edmund sighed. Dear lord. "Is she at least beautiful, how old is she? Is her mother a common whore, a witch or another opportunist like your late aunt, may she rest in peace, was?" Edmund asked, finding it hard to believe that Elizabeth Woodville would ever have a peaceful afterlife. If there was such a thing, he thought grimly, his brother's woman was likely burning in hell, reliving the suffering she had done to all her enemies, including them when she attempted against Cecily's life. It took him a long time to confirm it, but Mary had revealed to him her use of witchcraft and that Elizabeth had used it against everyone, including Richard.  
He hoped if there was a hell that she was there, burning for all eternity.

"Edmund," Mary said apprehensively resting her hand on his. "if Arthur says she is qualified that will be enough for us."

She wasn't happy about this but if this was what her son wanted then so be it. She vaguely remembered hearing about Sancia of Naples and Aragon, she remembered very little but she had been Gioffre Borgia's first consort and albeit they hadn't had any issue, she was reputedly beautiful. That was a good thing. Her son was handsome; he was not the young boy Gioffre had been when he married her in her time. And what was more, they were of the same age, they could produce many heirs.

"She is a good match father, her mother is one of the most famous courtesans in her father's court and she's said to have been a beauty in her youth." His father made a grumbling noise.

Arthur took out the miniature portrait Henry Tudor had given him. He gave it to his father. "This is her, as you can see she is not the hideous creature you perceive. She is beautiful and in spite of her illegitimate status she is rich, very rich, and has many properties of her own in Naples."

"Is the king aware that Naples is rival territory with France and Spain?" Edmund queried, ignoring his son's last statement about his wife's vast wealth.

"His Grace does not care about the rivalry between nations, he's already promised his second eldest son to princess Catherine of Aragon and Arthur is yet to be promised, but given time he will be given in marriage to another daughter of the house of Tratasmara. Meanwhile he secures an alliance with Naples in case Spain should reconsider the engagement."

The explanation did not sit well with his parents, especially his father but they could do nothing in the end but give their consent. After all Arthur was a man, a Duke in his own right and recognized by the king and the other lords for his quick mind and loyalty to their king. He was old enough to know what he was doing.

"If that is your decision then we approve," Mary said rising and walking to her son. She took his hands and smiled warmly at him. Arthur returned her smile. "And we will wait eagerly for your bride's arrival."

* * *

They did not have to wait for long. The king of Naples sent his daughter to England as quickly as he was told the news that the king and groom had agreed to his proposal. Alfonso II gave her a large dowry which included lands, castles, and gold, the latter which Henry cared for the most.

Arthur was the first one to receive his bride as he was the one who greeted her when she landed on Plymouth months after he'd given his parents the news of his betrothal.

Cecily was the second person of importance she met. So it's true. Sancia thought. The queen has become the king's mouthpiece.

She was beautiful. Queen Cecily of York was more beautiful than what she heard of her predecessor and her mother, the two Elizabeths, Elizabeth Woodville and Elizabeth of York. Her beauty was unearthly as her mother –in spite of her middle years- and beyond compare. The former Duchess of Rutland was there with her daughter, as one of her ladies, and she curtsied for Sancia along with the rest. The Queen merely nodded her head but her smile was gracious and beckoned her to come closer.

"Welcome to England sister." Queen Cecily said with a full smile then took the girl's shoulders and kissed each cheek. She had decided to make her a part of the family beforehand and although her mother wore no expression, Sancia could see the older woman agreed.

"Tis a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace." Sancia said bowing her head low, showing deep respect for this Tudor queen who could command obedience with a single smile and gesture.

"The pleasure is mine my lady, we hope you had a pleasant voyage."

"I did, everyone has been very kind to me." Sancia said not knowing what else to say. England she supposed was not different than any other court, filled with intrigue and deception, but the queen made it seem as if there was none.

"Let's get you settled." Cecily said and told one of her ladies to take her young brother's wife to be to her chambers.

"What do you think of her mother?" Mary was surprised Cecily asked her opinion at all. Normally she asked her namesake who had been welcomed to court at Cecily's insistence. Cecily knew how to respect her elders and the Duchess Dowager of York had been one of the greatest women in her time during Edward and Richard's reigns. Henry and his mother could not refuse her.

The older Cecily made no secret of her preference over her youngest namesake, queen Cecily. She was never close to her oldest son's brood, they were unruly and vain like their parents, god rest their souls but not Cecily. Cecily knew how to behave and she was every bit of a queen her late cousin had not been.  
Cecily asked her advice for everything after she asked lady Richmond –so there would be no talk of preference- but in the end the advice she followed was her own.

"She is beautiful, that is all I will say. In given time your father might warm to the idea. You and Arthur already seem convinced."

She chuckled. "I would rather wed him a lady of a noble house but Henry and his mother insisted."

"And you played no part?"

"Of course I did not, my husband's affairs are his own and it is not my place to interfere, I am merely a figurehead and quite content with it." Cecily said, showing her mother an open smile.

"There is not much for you to learn then." Mary said, proud that her daughter was sensible about her husband's power and that her affinity to Henry Tudor had made her wise and cautious.

"On the contrary, I will always need the advice of my foremothers." Cecily said to her, "Which brings me to the next topic" She paused and looked at her ladies. With a single gesture they knew to leave their mistress and her mother alone. Cecily led her mother to her privy chambers. "Do you want my stepson, your father married to your mother again?"

The question took her by surprise.

Did she? No, absolutely not. Out of the question! She would not subject her poor lady mother to the same torture she had to endure married to that man. But born two years before his time, she saw it harder to break this engagement. There was not a great age difference here and with more sons in the Tudor cradle, her lady mother might not be so pressured to give him a son. Even if Arthur died, the future of her husband's dynasty would be ensured. Yet this was her father, the future Henry VIII, the tyrant under which many of her loved ones, including her siblings suffered.

No. She decided. She told Cecily she would not want it. "Your grandfather had his chance, he lusted after my mother since he was nine when he first met her. He was a precocious child and he only wanted her when she was young and beautiful, because she was given to his brother instead of him. He was like a child whose favorite toy had been taken from him but when he grew tired, he treated her horribly. You've seen it in your visions, surely you know history will repeat itself if they marry again."

"But I can't break the engagement. I know engagements all they really do is hold alliances but I've seen it in the waters as you have mother, Henry will not let go of this alliance easily. He will see to it that little Harry is married to Catherine … again." She added after a long pause.

Mary sighed. She wanted to press her daughter to do something to convince Henry, but she was right. There was nothing they could do but wait for the inevitable.

* * *

Mary fell on her knees before a cross her daughter had given to her as a birthday present this year and began to pray to all the saints, holy mother, and father, so that they would prevent her parents' union from taking place.

As she said "Amen" she rose to her feet and crossed herself again. No matter how many times he asked god, she never received an answer. She still believed in Him as much as she came to believe in Melusine. She could have used magic to curse their union, in hopes it would not come to be but she didn't. She was not like Elizabeth Woodville; she would not use her magic to curse innocents.

She sat on the foot of her bed and gave a long, very long, tired sigh.

Prince Harry, Duke of York, who'd come looking for the queen, hoping she would be here, heard her mother sigh and interrupted her chain of thought asking Mary what was wrong.

Mary turned to face her father. In his pudgy little form he reminded her so much of the gentle giant, who once held her, twirled her, and played with her when her mother was not available. How she'd loved him.

"My prince." Mary said dropping into an immediate curtsy.

"Is Her Grace, my mother here?" He inquired. He had become accustomed of calling his father's new queen his mother since he had known no other mother but her and he had no recollection of his true mother.

"No, I am afraid not, my lord prince. If you wish you can wait for her here, I am also expecting her."

"Harry, you can call me Harry." He said and Mary called him so. He sat next to her. "Were you praying?"

"Indeed I was."

"What were you praying for?"

"For my parents, I was hoping they would find peace in the afterlife." She lied smoothly and Harry shrugged as if this did not matter much. "And for my grandparents," she added, pausing as a mental image of her mother's last moments, her suffering, and her own appeared. "may God forgive them."

Harry got closer to Mary, closer than she would have wanted him and sat on her lap. She helped him balance so he would not fall, and in return, he surprised her by wrapping his pudgy arms around her waist.

"Why do you do that?" Please no, get off me. I swear … Mary's thoughts were cut short by his words –"Because I love you and because mother Cecily loves you, I love you."


	28. Chapter 28

**Thanks for reviewing, keep reviewing.  
Sources listed in previous chapters, chapter inspiration game of thrones and the real white queen and her rivals documentary. Thanks to ladyjaxs for posting it. One correction, Harry is two years younger than Catherine of Aragon not four, I've re-edited chapter 27, sorry for the inconvenience.  
**

* * *

_Ambitious climbers don't want to stop on the second highest rung. If only you could take that final step. You'd see further than all the rest. You'd be alone with nothing but blue sky above you -Cersei Lannister_

1492-1496

"Mother," Cecily greeted her mother, she smiled at her great grandfather. "We are all getting along aren't we?" She said with that melodic voice of hers that often reminded her mother of her namesake and her own mother as well.

"Mama," Harry exclaimed, his chubby little arms opened to receive his mother. She took him in her arms and sat next to her mother, placing her stepson on her lap.

"What were you two secretly talking about?" Cecily inquired, her smile never leaving her face. She looked pointedly at her mother, hoping she had not done anything to perjure herself, or worse, her own person. But the reassuring smile on her mother's face told her she hadn't.

"Harry, you should be at your lessons with your sister Margaret. Don't want to fall too far behind, do you?"

"No." He shook his head, circling his arms around her neck as she scooped him up. Mary imagined he would choke the life of her daughter. Such a dangerous little pig, like the white boar she once condemned, _he is just the same_ –she thought- she turned away as he gave Cecily many kisses on her cheeks, praising her for her beauty and intelligence.

"You are very strong, you know that?" Cecily said, echoing her mother's thoughts. It was a habit of her, to echo everything her mother said and she always seemed to know what she was thinking. It didn't come as a surprise that her daughter was plainspoken around her stepchildren. "You are eating well?" Harry nodded. "Good, remember to do exercise, a King must be strong, lean and muscular."

"But I will never be King." Harry said, his thin lips forming an amusing smile.

"You do not know that, your father has raised both you and Arthur to be Kings, a King must always have second sons, remember that and a brother, in case he doesn't have any children."

"I know, papa told me. He said have a son, a man without a son is nothing."

"Did he say that?" Cecily asked with an amused voice that reached her eyes. She would have a word with Henry about this. It dawned on her that it was the first time she thought of her husband as anything other than 'king', 'lord husband' and 'darling'. It was odd that his name should come so easily to her, but it did. And she could not help but like it.

It was as her namesake and lady grandmother had told her –power lay in a man's heart and the woman who was wise enough to have it in her safe-keeping.

She smiled inwardly. She was after all, the dragon's daughter, the lion's true cub and descendant of Lancaster and more importantly, York. She owed it to her York ancestors and her namesake to keep the true pure line on the throne. Through her descendants, she would give birth to the next centuries. It would be they who stood next to their half-brothers, as councilors, wise men, bishops, Archbishops, Dukes, heirs, and lastly as their sires. It would be they, she would make sure of it, who became in a not so distant future as kings of England. This made the curves of her lip extend upward even more.

Harry, who was too blind in his belief that everyone loved him, did not see this. Likely, mother and daughter thought, he thinks we are smiling at his chubby self.

Harry nodded. Cecily ran her fingers through his wisps of auburn-golden hair and whispered in his ear. "It's not how many sons you can have Harry, it is how many girls you can give the crown. Sometimes they are more valuable.

Harry's brow creased, he looked at her quizzically, not understanding what she meant by that.

Cecily chuckled. "Let me put it this way Harry. Do you think the crown gives you power?"

"Yes."

Wrong. But she would not say that. She chose to phrase it in a way he would understand, but that only left him more confused, "Armies give you power," She explained, "Armies, gold, money and alliances and you can't do that if you have too many sons. Remember Matilda's sons and the problem of succession that came with Edward III. He had many sons, very few alliances, too many English marriages that led to many favorites, many rivalries that ended up dividing the nation that led to-"

"Cousins' war!" Harry cried; not waiting to voice his opinion, especially when he knew he was right and would get rewarded as he often did when he got things right.

"Yes, very good love. It was a bloody battle, I am sure our lady the King's mother has explained it to you. Cousin against cousin and it all stemmed because of having many sons." There was a long pause. "Tell me, do you want to have many sons?"

He shook his head vigorously as a picture of the bloody battle of Bosworth field exploded in his head, all those bodies his father had told him, and all because of his ancestor decided to have many sons. Suddenly the prospect seemed too macabre to him, almost unholy. It was a sin to bring many unwanted children into the world, even more to bring children who would only cause pain to others. "I don't want to have sons, mama."

"You will have to someday if you ever become king. You can't expect your wives not to bring you heirs."

"No," the little boy said, shaking his head more vigorously, "I will not have sons," he said adamantly. "I will have daughters, many daughters but I will not have sons." He nestled his head in the crook of her neck and fell asleep with his stepmother's soft voice.

She looked at her mother. _See,_ her eyes said, _that is how you get things done._

* * *

Not long after Henry had announced the Catholic kings (the official title given to them by His Holiness, the new pope, Alexander VI) had paid for their daughter's dowry in full, did Cecily decided to have a pillow talk with her husband. She whispered in his ear while his hands roamed her body, "I think it's time you should send for your son's bride."

"He is your son too." Henry reminded her, gently kissing her lips as their bodies joined. She was silent every time he entered her, not letting him know she enjoyed the pleasure he brought her. She was not like her late cousin and predecessor, she did not moan and squeal, she was not a farmer's wife, she was a queen and descendant of the noblest and highest royals that ever lived. She kept her dignity. Yet her austere person only made Henry more wanton and eager to please her.

"I forget that often, I do not want to substitute the image of my most noble predecessor and your first queen with mine, she was the boy's mother and her image is something I will never overcome.

"On the contrary," he said cynically, smiling indulgently, stroking her hair as she pushed his hair (damped b sweat) away from his face, "you have done that and most splendidly." He approached her face and whispered, "I would not want anyone else to replace her in my children's hearts but you. They are our children." He said but his eyes said something else entirely –_You, my undisputed queen, greater than Elizabeth._

"So will you do it, my king?" She asked in the same tone.

"Henry, there is no reason for us to be formal when we are alone." He said taking her fingers away from his hair and moving them to his chest. "I will grant my lady her request –and the king's." He added, justifying his granting with that of another man's. Deep down he was still the same proud creature he married with the difference that he was now her proud creature. Lady Richmond no longer mattered; he took her advice less seriously and saw her less and less. It angered her, but there was nothing she could do. Cecily was queen, and in a man's world there was no room for two.

She nodded her head and thanked him for his kindness.

* * *

The bride in question came four years later when the queen was big with child again. Twins, many wagered, and they were not disappointed. The queen delivered twins after news reached them that the princess Catherine had landed in Plymouth with her entourage of ladies and Dueña, Doña Elvira. Unlike in her lady mother's time, this time the people that were sent to receive her, were only two, the king's uncle, Jasper Tudor, rough, plainspoken but yet courteous when she greeted the small child, and My Lady, the King's mother, lady Richmond, Margaret Beaufort.

She was surprised to find a girl with eyes of an owl, with wisdom beyond her years. It was as if she was destined to remain in the background all her life. This child, this girl, this princess had the same eyes as her descendant, Mary Hill. She is no fool. She would be Harry's puppeteer just as her daughter in law was Henry's.

* * *

The princess' entourage came to Richmond. The king and queen consort were the first two people she met there followed by the queen's relations and lastly –at last, thought the little princess- her betrothed, Harry Tudor, Duke of York.

He will be handsome, thought the princess, curtsying to her husband to be. He was nine and she was eleven, two years his senior and yet she looked younger, she had the face of a babe, the lips of an innocent girl, the eyes that spoke of contemplating pious woman, yet Margaret Beaufort and the queen's mother knew, appearances were deceiving.

The princess' auburn hair escaped from her flat Burgundy hood as soon as she curtsied to the rest of the royal family, including the prince of Wales who could not help but be envious at his little brother for having this beauty.

None of the members of the royal family noticed his discontent except the older and younger Cecily, who couldn't help but find this very amusing.

After the introductions the prince of Wales approached his sister in law to be. "My lord prince," Catherine greeted, showing her gracious smile that Mary had often seen in her when she would greet her father. She wished that Arthur would live or marry one of her grandsons. She was not convinced that Cecily had changed her father. Once a tyrant always tyrant.

She watched with interest the interactions of her mother and uncle.

"You like games my lady?"

"Why yes, of course and the answer is no I do not know the jive but I would be happy for you to teach me."

"How did-" He shook his head, he remembered his lady grandmother telling him that he should get used to the Spanish princess' weird sense of humor. Her mother was after all queen in her own right, it was no unusual then for her to behave this way.

"Never mind."

Catherine gave a small chuckle. This prince was not as tall as her betrothed. In fact, he stood at the same height as his younger brother, the Duke of York, yet, there was something in him that appealed to her senses. She saw he rarely smiled, but when he did it was genuine and not feigned or forced like his younger siblings. She liked that, she had always preferred honest over hypocrisy.

"You can say it. My sisters always played pranks on me, it has strengthened me I like to believe."

"Apologies, my lady, I did not mean to-"

"You do not have to apologize, it is me who should. You are a prince after all, you belong to one of the greatest houses in Europe and someday you will be king. You do not need to be apologetic to your subjects, rather they should be to you." Turning to her betrothed who was waving his hands at her, begging fr her return, she excused herself and returned by the Duke of York's side, smiling, laughing, agreeing to everything he said as she had been coached by her lady mother, the queen of Castile.

Arthur watched her. His words left him perplexed. He had never thought of kingship, not in that way. He always saw it as something that was too far behind, but she had left him thinking that the day could be closer than he thought. _You do not need to be apologetic, others should._

Glancing at her one more time, he could not help but feel his cheeks growing red, and his heart beat faster as she turned her attention back to his brother, whispering in his ear as if they were secret lovers. _Yes, I will be king someday and when I am_ –he thought-_ I will have everything I desire._

* * *

"Mother"

"Mother!"

Her children echoed when she came into the nursery with her mother far behind. Her children had gotten bigger these past four years. Owen, the oldest was now five, Edmund a year younger, and the twins, Mary and John just babes.

Mary watched as her daughter played with her children, dismissing all her ladies. She was just like any mother, she did not flaunt her position in others' faces as her ancestors had done, yet she was still proud and had that dignified bearing that was common to see in every English queen, but today with her children she was just Cecily, plain Cecily, her daughter, and a mother above all who enjoyed nothing moe than spending time with her children.

* * *

Mary was finding it more difficult to keep up with the demands at court. Not that she could not, she could and enjoyed court life since Cecily had dethroned Margaret Beaufort from her position as the king's primary councilor, but it was her husband that kept her from enjoying it.

Edmund was growing sicker and sicker. He often spoke of the old days when it would just be her and their little ones, when his brother was king and the York monarchy stood triumphant, unchallenged, invincible.

It was becoming harder for him to get used to the changes. His heart had not warmed to Sancia, despite her bringing Arthur two sons, one daughter, and no miscarriages, he could not look past her bastard status. She was the illegitimate daughter of the king of Naples who was now in disgrace and a whore; it was an insult to his house and himself.

"He is happy with her, we should rejoice in that." Mary said, holding his hand as he lay dying.

He said nothing. He had lost the ability of speech. "When our son comes greet him with a smile, it is does you him no good, nor you, to show him unkindness at the time of your death."

Her father had never forgiven her for looking so much like her mother, for her rebelliousness but she had, yet in her heart, in the last moments of his death when she had been the one holding his hand, there had been nothing but bitterness. Her father left it clear she was of no value to him. She didn't want their son to experience the same thing. No child deserved that.

Nodding to her, Mary went to the outer chamber where all her children were waiting including the younger ones, Johanna, Jane, and Catherine, and called Arthur forward.

He took his father's hand, just as Mary remembered she had on her father's dying day.

Edmund moved his lips, no sound came but by their movement Arthur knew what he said 'be happy'. "I will." Arthur said then told his father how he did not forget his York ancestors and although loyal to Tudor, he would always be a York first and foremost. This brought a smile on his father's face, then with a dying breath he was gone.


	29. Epilogue

**Thanks for everyone who's reviewed, keep reviewing and we are at the end. All sources and inspiration for this story are listed in previous chapters.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

_Everyone who isn't us is an enemy -Cersei Lannister_

1501 - 1536

"Father," Cecily whispered, her whispers died in the window as she closed her eyes. She opened her hand to reveal the crown ring she'd caught from the cold waters of the river Thames. The goddess Melusine had given her this gift and with it she had sealed her destiny, delivered her family from her ancestor's curse and given her glory. It only seemed fitting that she prayed to both deities while holding this trinket, for her father's soul.

She put her finger back on her middle finger and made the sign of the cross. Not long after her father, her husband had fallen ill. Some said that it was a curse on the Tudor king for stealing the crown from its rightful owner, for killing the last true remnant of the York dynasty, the Earl of Warwick, and turning the remaining Plantagenets into Tudor loyalists.

Nonsense. Cecily thought. Her lord husband was a good king, albeit harsh, cold, and unyielding as the season he was born into. He had taught her many things, given her many pleasures. Yet, she could never love him completely and for that she blamed her own magic, because she saw him only as a means to an end, a vessel which to plant her seed to so it would take root in her belly and restore the York monarchy through their children.

Arthur was more than ready to be king. He was crowned not long after his father died. Like Henry he was enchanted with the Spanish princess and it pricked him that she was meant for Harry and there was nothing he could do against it. Oh, he tried, very hard but nothing. She laughed recalling how hard he had spoken on the benefit of having a brother in the church, but everyone who knew the Duke of York knew he was not church material. Parliament obviously rejected his proposition.

The queen dowager's husband was interred in Westminster chapel he had refurbished and remade in his ideal image, it was another architectural beauty, a testament of Tudor greatness. She smirked as she visited his tomb, he lay next to his first consort, not because he wanted but because it was the right thing to do, the proper thing. His son by her would be crowned king and if he failed to have any children, his second son –also by her- would follow. He did not want to anger Yorkshire anymore, there were still many with strong sympathies for the old regime. He owed it to his dynasty to do what was right.

She didn't care really. She told her mother so. Her father was also interred in this chapel. Henry had not abided her lady mother's wishes to inter her father next to his fallen brother, Richard of Gloucester, the last York king. There was still too much bad blood between him and the Yorks. He had distrusted her namesake and lady grandmother, the Duchess Dowager. It was not enough for him to defeat the Yorks, he had to have them separate, even in death.

The coronation was nothing short of great. It piqued her how Arthur eyed his sister in law, the Duchess of York, Catherine of Aragon who was not blind to his attention. She smiled from time to time, showing that bright face of her, letting her auburn hair flow as she gave one of her many Spanish dances, amusing his new court.

Arthur desired her but she was his brother's, as his father he would not dare put desire over duty, but he was not all Tudor, he was not all cold, he also had strong York blood flowing in his veins and it manifested in the following years as his yearning for her became stronger.

Her lady mother saw it all unfold before her eyes. Mary grew close to her own mother, the Duchess of York, princess Catherine, and advised her against accepting the king's gifts but her mother hardly listened. She loved the attention and it was the first time that Mary realized how much her mother had been a flirt in her youth, albeit a conscious one, accepting gifts only from the bigger fish, in this case, the king of England.

People whispered amongst themselves during Arthur II long reign why he didn't marry. Many attested that it was because of his platonic love, others that it was so he would not appear to favor any country. Very few knew the truth.

* * *

The funeral procession lasted nearly a week, there were many stops. The tomb was being carried by his greater gentleman, men of honor, rich men, men who had bought their honor with their wealth and their loyal service to the king.

It was strange that the king did not have amongst him his brothers but as his father, he had never been close to his family, he was a king of ice, a king who rarely –if ever- showed any emotion.

"You are king now." Catherine whispered to her husband after the service had ended and prepared to go to the Tower where they would be lodged in preparation for their joint coronation. "Make your brother and England proud." She added then left him to his own devices. Henry watched her go.

Catalina, the girl who had come from Spain for him –just for him. Every man in Europe wanted her, even his brother, but she was his alone.

He didn't want to burden her with the pains of childbirth but Catalina, renamed Catherine shortly after her arrival to England (although to him he would always be that Spanish girl he had given himself to heart and soul) she had sworn a holy vow to give him a son no matter how much pain she had to endure. _"It is all for you."_ She had said and true to her promise she had given him a son, the first of many.

His stepmother's mother and aunt, the former Duchess of Rutland had been there for the Christening, holding their new year son, she had personally presented him to his mother.

After tomorrow he and Catherine would be known as king Henry and queen Catherine. It had a nice ring to it, and he couldn't think of anyone more suited for that position. Even Arthur remarked on his last days that England would be blessed with such a queen.

* * *

Mary watched from her seat as king and queen entered the Abbey. They would exit as the anointed monarchs their Tudor predecessors had made rich beyond compare. Next to her were her daughters and granddaughters, the men were behind her. Mary's extended family was unlike any in England.

She watched behind her as her youngest grandson, Arthur and Sancia's son, Richie played with his toy soldier. Mary scolded him, one look from her was enough for the boy to be quiet, but that didn't stop him from giggling and shifting uncomfortably on his seat causing his parents many headaches.

"Is it going to be over soon?" Her oldest granddaughter, princess Mary Jane, tugged on her bell sleeve. Mary told her to be quiet and little Mary obeyed. She, however was not the only one excited. There was another Mary, one she knew very well and it seemed bizarre to stare at her as the coronation ceremony dragged on.

The Archbishop of Canterbury, once an obscure priest, Thomas Cranmer –a man Mary had come to know as the emissary of Satan in her own time- placed their respective crowns on each of their heads. The coronation outranked every other in history. Henry was their merry monarch, if his father and late brother had been the winter kings, he was the king of summer and his wife, still beautiful despite her childbearing years, was the queen of spring.

Their horde of children were with them, Mary saw the great contrast between the girls and boys. While the queen doted on the latter, the king doted on the former. But there was one, one beautiful, smiling, young woman who stood above the rest and when she turned Mary recognized her as herself, the princess Mary, the king's beloved pearl.


End file.
